


Animals

by AvianSpirit



Category: The Wolf Among Us
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvianSpirit/pseuds/AvianSpirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the death of the Crooked Man, Bigby's wolf side has been threatening to take over every second of the day. When an old enemy appears to wreak havok, Bigby struggles to maintain his self control before he hurts anybody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

It was worse. He knew it. He'd known it ever since that fight with Mary. The taste of her blood, ripe and hot against his tongue, the feeling of her body shatter under his paws and between his teeth, it had all awoken something inside of him. A beast he had thought long dead.

The spectacle with the Crooked Man hadn't helped at all. He didn't know what he was thinking, ripping his head off. But the more he remembered, the more he realized that there was no thought behind it. There was just instinct.

Looking in the mirror, it was only too obvious. His eyes were never brown anymore. Always, they were amber, bright and gleaming with a feral rage.

The wolf was awake. It was inside him. And every second of the day, it demanded to be released.

* * *

Ever since that day, every Fable looked at him differently. They had all forgotten who the Sheriff really was. Hell, even Bigby himself pretended to be normal – or at least as normal as a Fable could be. But it couldn't be denied any longer. The Big Bad Wolf roamed the streets. Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide everyone in sight. Not that it would matter much. He could still blow your house down.

Bigby thought this resentfully as he gazed out the window of his cramped and dirty living room. In a way, it was better that no one tried to talk to him anymore. The less people he interacted with, the less people he wanted to dismember.

"How you holding up, Bigby?" said Colin, trotting awkwardly through the threshold.

Bigby sighed. And then there was Colin. In all honesty, he didn't know why the pig was still living here. He should have sent him to the Farm when he had the chance. Before all of the murders, Bigby had found his presence helpful. Colin wasn't bad company, once you got to know him. But now, he was just irritating. Every single waking minute of the day, that obnoxious pig was just around the corner, condescending and smelly as usual.

Slowly, the sheriff shifted his gaze until his golden eyes were glaring into Colin's. He noticed the pig's uneasy shift in weight. Of course, that was to be expected. Colin was all too familiar with those eyes. Those were the eyes of the beast that had turned his life inside out.

"I'm fine, Colin," Bigby said, trying to make his tone soft. It still came out as a growl. He went back to looking out the window and took a long drag from his cigarette, expecting the conversation to be done.

"No, you're not," said the pig. Bigby turned to him in surprise. Colin had barely said a word to him since the Crooked Man, except for the occasional 'how are you doing' or 'get me a smoke.' Like every other Fable around, Colin had tried to leave Bigby to his own devices, which was a real fucking chore, considering the fact that they lived together.

"What do you mean?" said the sheriff, not even trying to hide the growl in his voice.

"I mean you're not fine, Bigby. You haven't been fine since _the head_ ," Colin said pointedly.

Bigby closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The last thing he needed right then was to get angry. He took a frantic drag from the cigarette, but it did nothing to dull the reek of fear rolling off of his roommate.

That was the whole reason why he started smoking. Bigby had to dull his senses somehow. It was the only way he could stay sane, living in a city like New York. Smoking kept his smell in check, dampening all the other odors, but when the scent was strong enough, it always found its way into Bigby's nostrils.

That's how Colin was. Fear gushed from him, fear mixed with anger and concern. It clouded the room, filling up every crack and crevice it could find, crawling its way into Bigby's brain. It was enough to drive him mad.

"I don't think that's any of your concern, Colin," he snarled, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

"It is my fucking concern, seeing as I'm the one who might get eaten!" Colin shouted. Bigby didn't answer, so he continued. "You know what they say about you, right? All the other Fables? They think you're officially off the wagon, Bigby. They are convinced that the Big Bad Wolf is back, and that he's got a thirst blood. They think they're going to start dying in the streets!"

" _And who the fuck cares what they think_?" Bigby rounded on him, feeling his lips curl back, revealing his wicked canines. "Let's not forget that I did them a fucking favor! There _were_ people dying in the streets, and they had nothing to do with me! The only people I killed were the ones who deserved it, and that's it."

Colin took a step closer to the sheriff. Though he must have been terrified, his anger was much stronger. "But it's not just 'it.' I know what happens when you get a taste of Fable. You get this hunger. And when you start eating, you don't stop," he furiously.

In return, Bigby also took a step closer. He felt his vision sharpen, his teeth elongate. _You need to get a grip_ , the reasonable part of his mind said, but Bigby was done with reason. He was done with patience. He just wanted to get mad. "How can you say that?" he roared. "You don't know shit about me, pig! You don't have a fucking clue!"

He stopped, breathing heavily. Silence hung in the air for a good few seconds. Then Colin drew back.

"So it's 'pig' now, huh?" he said, his voice unusually quiet. Colin chuckled. It was an odd sort of chuckle, one that Bigby didn't like the sound of. "I know a lot about you, Bigby. I know what you're really like. That hunger inside you? It's only gonna get worse, and if you don't do something about it soon, someone's gonna get hurt. And I _know this_ ," he added, seeing Bigby's mouth open to object, "because I've seen Fables get hurt because of you. That's what happened to my brothers, remember?

"Yeah, you look shocked, don't you?" he said, noticing Bigby's expression. "Or is that fear? Guilt, possibly? I hope so. I mean, that's the whole reason why I'm still here, isn't it? Why you haven't sent me to the Farm? You let me stay in your home since you blew down my brothers'. As if that somehow makes up for what you did to them." Colin sniffed and turned away. "You tried to kill my baby brothers, Bigby. You almost did. Then after that, you sent them away to live with those brutes. That's the sort of thing a 'pig' can't forget," he said, using the word mockingly. "That kind of thing can never be water under the bridge." He started to walk away.

"Wait, Colin," Bigby called after him. Being reminded of Colin's brothers was enough to shock most of the anger out of him. Though his eyes still gleamed amber, there was a softness to them now.

"No," said the pig curtly. "I don't want to talk to you right now. Not if you can't stop looking at me like that. Like _prey_." The word stung Bigby like silver, and he couldn't help but flinch. "You can come apologize once you've got your shit together," Colin continued, ignoring Bigby's pleading expression. "Until then, fuck off." Having made his point, the pig trotted into the bedroom and shut the door loudly.

Bigby took a few deep breaths before lashing out with a clawed hand, sending a lamp flying across the room. It crashed into the room, and Bigby could hear the satisfying shatter of the light bulb. " _Fucking hell_ ," he snarled furiously. He started pacing the room and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fucking hell," he repeated quietly, digging into his pocket for his pack of smokes. He stuck one in his mouth and started to go for his lighter when the end of the cig was sheared off by his razor sharp teeth. "Fuck," he muttered once more.

It took almost a minute for the sheriff to calm down just enough to get his teeth to shrink down. As always, he glanced in the mirror hopefully, but once again, he was disappointed to find that his eyes were still bright and angry.

Bigby snorted in exasperation and shook his head. Almost all of Fabletown refused to look his way nowadays, and he just fucked up one of the last friendships he still had. Nice one.

He knew who he needed now. The same person he always needed. Snow.

But she wouldn't talk to him. If it wasn't the shitload of work the other Fables were berating her with, it was color of his eyes that made her hurry the other way.

Snow had always somewhat resented his wolf side. He didn't blame her, of course – it was the only natural reaction. Over the centuries, Bigby had thought maybe she'd warm up to him, and for a while she did, but then…

He remembered so clearly the blind fury that raged through his veins when the Crooked Man threw his cuffs around Bigby's neck. As he had the fucker on his knees, bent backwards over the Witching Well, the sheriff took special notice in a large, purple vein that bulged noticeably beneath the thin, pale skin of his neck, and that's what did it.

It was just a huge blur after that. Just blood and claws. Until he turned around and saw Snow's face. The terror and the disgust that was painted on her face, plain as day. On any other Fable, he might have felt satisfied. Triumphant, even. But not Snow. Never Snow.

With a growl, Bigby left the room and made his way down into the lobby. "Hey, Beauty," he said gruffly.

The young blonde at the counter gave a little jump at the mention of her name. She had gotten a job as a receptionist at the apartment building that Bigby lived in. He knew it paid better than any other shithole she could've worked at, but still, he wondered why anyone would want to be in the same building as him.

"Oh, h-hey, Bigby. H-how's it going?" she stuttered nervously.

"Could be better," he admitted. "Things good with Beast? I mean, with the rent and everything…" He trailed off awkwardly. Conversation was a lot harder since that night.

Beauty looked Bigby dead in the eyes. Next to Greenleaf, she had been the least willing to throw the Crooked Man down the Witching Well. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had been paying for her fancy apartment for so long. Whatever the reason, she definitely wasn't happy when Bigby decided to take his head off.

"Could be better," she said, her voice stony.

"Your job… You're making –"

"I'm making enough," Beauty cut him off. She looked down at her desk and smoothed a golden lock behind her ear. "You don't need to worry about us, Bigby. Beast and I can take care of ourselves. Just leave us alone," she said.

Bigby opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Besides, Beauty wouldn't be the first one to shy away from Bigby's attention.

"Whatever you say, Beauty," he grumbled, turning away from her and walking through the entrance of the building.

It was well after midnight, the only light coming from the streetlamps and glowing crescent moon. Bigby walked down the sidewalk with no real destination in mind. Visiting Snow was out of the question. He knew she wouldn't be in the mood to see him any time soon. His mind travelled to Nerissa. He was still unclear on what to do about her. Honestly, Bigby didn't know why he didn't chase after her that one day, why he didn't go up and demand answers.

Thinking back on it, he supposed it was because she deserved some peace after all that happened to her. Whether she was Nerissa or Faith, it didn't really matter. Georgie and the Crooked Man were both dead, and that girl – whoever she was – was free. Nothing could change that.

Bigby passed by an alleyway when he caught a strange scent. It was heavy and distinctive, a smell he knew all too well.

Blood.

But something was different about it. Normally, when he smelled blood, it stirred something inside of Bigby. Made him hungry, made him crave it, but this blood felt foul, poisonous even. Another good whiff of it made the sheriff's head reel. His eyes brightened out of curiosity. "Who's there?" he called out.

Of course, there was no answer, but it was worth a try.

With a heavy sigh, Bigby stepped into the shadows of the cramped alleyway. Mucky puddles were spotted along the asphalt, and crumpled papers and broken beer bottles made a cracking sound every time the sheriff took a step. By this time, the stench was overpowering. _Why didn't I bring my cigarettes_ , Bigby groaned in his mind.

"Listen, I've had a real shitty night so far, and I don't need to deal with any other shenanigans. So get your ass out of here before I tear it to pieces," he growled. No answer. Again.

He was just about to turn back when he heard a woman's voice say in a sickly sweet tone, "Now that's no way to talk to a lady."

And just like that, Bigby's blood turned cold.

He froze in place, eyes widened, mouth slightly open in shock. The voice continued, "You know, I was just on my way out of town when I realized we didn't have a proper goodbye. I'd really miss our little tumbles, and I couldn't bare to part with them without having just one more."

Very slowly, Bigby lowered himself down into a defensive stance. His nails grew long and clawlike, and his teeth shaped themselves into fangs. "How is this possible?" he said in a low voice.

A chuckle. "Bigby, I'm disappointed in you," the voice said. It seemed to be all around him, originating from every crack in the brick walls of the alley. It seemed extremely close, yet at the same time, thrown from a great distance. "All this time, I thought you were the smart one. The big bad who stood above all the other mewling fools. I'd have expected you to figure it out by now, Sheriff."

Bigby whirled around and came face to face with a pair of blazing red eyes, a color so much like his own. "You can't kill a ghost," Bloody Mary whispered.

She slashed at him with a shard of glass, leaving a deep, stinging gash in Bigby's chest. He growled in pain and swung a clawed fist towards her face, but she wasn't there. He looked around frantically before a strong hand grasped his forearm, digging its nails into the exposed skin. He turned, and there she was, grinning like a maniac as she dug her glass dagger deep into his arm. He felt its jagged tip graze his radius.

With another painful roar, Bigby sent a fist flying at the bitch, but she was gone faster than blinking. A quick slash across his right shin made him fall to one knee. The sheriff twisted around awkwardly, but again, Bloody Mary vanished. He struggled to his feet. _Where the hell is she coming from_ , he screamed internally. Just as the thought was finished, two more slashes opened the skin along his lower ribcage. Blood oozed out of the wounds and dripped down his shirt.

Bigby started swinging wildly, but she kept coming, appearing everywhere he wasn't looking. Down, down, the razor sharp blade carved into him, too quick to be noticed until after the blood started gushing from the new wounds.

A hand gripped his shoulder. _Finally_ , Bigby thought as he roared. Fast as lightening, the werewolf whirled around and closed his hand around the throat of his attacker.

"Fucking shit, Bigby!" the Fable exclaimed in surprised.

It took Bigby a moment to recognize him. "…Woody?" he said. He released his grip on the other man's neck and looked around, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where is she?" he asked, stepping back with his fists raised.

"Where's who?" Woody's eyes widened when he caught sight of the blood. "Bigby, what the hell happened?"

He looked down at his clothes, torn to shreds from all the cuts and gashes. "She…she was here…" Bigby muttered uncertainly, but he suddenly noticed his claws. Dark red liquid dripped from their pointed ends. Just one sniff, and Bigby knew it was his own. _Did I do this?_

"Bigby, there's no one else here. I thought I heard fighting. What happened?" Woody said. Just then, the sheriff noticed the axe he held in his hand. The woodsman had been prepared for a fight.

Bigby turned his attention back to the seemingly empty alleyway, and realized that Woody was right. There was no sign of Mary anywhere.


	2. No Rest for the Weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bigby goes back to the Woodlands to find Snow.

"Bigby, are you sure about this?" Woody asked, twirling his axe anxiously.

Bigby didn't know why the woodsman was still there, but to be honest, he was grateful for the company. That thing, whatever it was, that attacked him, it did something to him. He hadn't felt that scared in a long time.

But even if he was scared, if Bloody Mary was still alive, Snow could be in danger. And that frightened him more than anything.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Bigby sighed. He grimaced as a sharp pang stabbed across his wounds. They weren't the worst injuries he'd suffered by a long shot, but they still stung whenever he moved the wrong way.

They stood in front of the offices. Snow was most definitely still in there. Even if she hadn't been working through most nights, Bigby could still smell her from several stories below.

He cast a doubtful look at the woodsman. "I should probably handle this on my own," he said.

Woody looked dubious, but nodded silently. He turned around and left the courtyard, swinging his axe as he walked.

After a deep breath, Bigby staggered up the stairs. Finding his way to Snow's office took longer than in should've, even when he used the elevator. The hallway was eerily empty. Since Snow took charge of Fabletown, it seemed as if the Fables never stopped coming in. After hours, the emptiness was just sort of off-putting.

He walked slowly across the hall, to the door at the very end. Through the small glass window, he saw the light of a lamp illuminating an old wooden desk, and the blurry form of Snow slaving away over some documents.

Another deep breath, he raised his hand, knocked.

Snow opened the door, her eyes half-closed. Right when he saw her, Bigby let out a sigh of relief. She looked dog tired, but at least she was alive.

"Office hours are 8 to –"she began to say, but froze. For a dreadful second, Snow looked scared, just like Bigby knew she would. All she saw were his amber eyes, and the predator underneath them. Then she saw the blood oozing through the ragged strips that remained of his clothing, and concern found its way onto her features. It sounded crazy, but Bigby was a tiny bit glad that he got jumped in the alley. Because right then, Snow didn't care about the color of his eyes. For just a moment, things were like they used to be.

"We need to talk, Snow," Bigby panted. Just then, a wave of dizziness made his head spin. He stumbled but righted himself, one arm holding the doorframe for support.

"Bigby!" The new mayor stepped forward to help him keep his balance. "You should sit down. Take it slow," she said. Her hands hovered over him, wanting to help, and yet hesitant to do so.

"I'm fine," he responded. "Just a little…" He trailed off. The sheriff plodded through the threshold and collapsed into one of the chairs. "I got attacked in an alley. She caught me off guard, and she got away," Bigby said, running his fingers through his hair tiredly.

Snow took the seat next to his. "You got attacked? How many were there?" she asked, eyebrows knitted together.

At this point, another wave of nausea swept over Bigby. He looked down at the long tears in his flesh. Something was wrong. The wounds should have started scabbing by then. He wondered briefly how much blood he had lost. As a Fable, and a damn strong one at that, Bigby could lose as much as 4 liters and still be pretty OK. Even so, it sucked a lot.

"Sheriff? Are you alright?" Snow asked. He looked at her, soaking in her image. She had changed her suit. While she was still wearing the blue button-up with snowflakes, the mayor had traded in her cream-colored business skirt for an ivory blazer with soft blue cuffs and matching white pants. Her usual loose and relaxed bun looked tighter, more severe. It was evident that this job wasn't going easy on her. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Bigby?" she said. The werewolf couldn't help but smile. It had been too long since she'd called him by his first name.

"There was just one," he answered finally. Snow looked confused. "It was Bloody Mary."

The reaction was immediate. Snow White stood up and began pacing the room. _That's strange_ , Bigby thought. _I never knew her as a pacer_. "Bloody Mary? Are you sure?" she asked. Her tone was harsh, and Bigby frowned. The moment was gone.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said impatiently. He laid a hand across the cut on his left forearm. The bone still ached, but the bleeding had finally slowed to a halt. His skin tingled as it tried to close the wound. "I could never forget a face like that," Bigby muttered.

"But how? You said she was dead. You said you killed her." Snow threw an accusatory glare his way, and Bigby struggled to suppress his growl. This was what he hated about Fabletown. Somehow, he was always responsible for anything that went wrong. Now Snow, who was usually on his side, didn't trust him anymore. When had everything gone to Hell?

Bigby pinched the bridge of his nose. Once more, he found himself craving a cigarette. "I know what I said," he sighed.

"Then _how_?" Snow asked earnestly. Without his smokes, it was easy for Bigby to sense all of the emotions swirling around Snow's head. It wasn't fear, exactly, but something else…something wilder.

Panic, Bigby realized. His frown deepened. "I don't know," he said quietly, his eyes downcast.

Snow bit her lip and stared at the ceiling, her hands on her hips. "This can't be happening. Not again." Her voice shook. "I thought that…I thought that finally, it was over. For weeks, nothing, and I hoped…" She gulped and turned her head to the side. It was like she was looking everywhere but at the sheriff. "I guess it never ends. All this crap will just keep happening," she scoffed.

Bigby looked at his hands. There was still blood stuck under his fingernails. Blood that smelled like his. He tried to imagine clawing at himself in the alley, roaring at an invisible adversary. But Mary had seemed so real. How could he have made it up?

After a few moments of thought, Bigby cursed under his breath. "Snow, there's something you don't know. Something I need to tell you," the sheriff said with difficulty.

Snow's icy gaze shot towards him. "What is it, Bigby?" she said.

The sheriff tried to calm his breathing, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking or his heartbeat from speeding. Telling Snow could mean losing her trust forever, but if there was something wrong with him and nobody knew about it…the next "attack" may not be on him. "During that fight with Bloody Mary, I changed."

Snow's lips tightened into a thin line. "Like what you did to Tweedle-dum," she said unhappily.

Bigby grimaced. This wasn't going to be pleasant. "No. Like…like back in the Homelands." He looked at Snow helplessly. He couldn't help but see her shy away from his golden stare. "I _changed_ , Snow. Into my old self."

Her jaw dropped, and she took an involuntary step back. "Oh, Bigby…" Snow said, her hand travelling to her mouth. "Oh my God." She turned her back and started pacing again. "How could you do that? Wait." The mayor halted in her tracks. "Is that why you did that to the Crooked Man? Was that even you?"

The sheriff made an exasperated noise. "Maybe. I don't know," he lied. Snow scoffed. "Snow, I didn't have a choice," he continued defensively. "There were dozens of them, and I couldn't just –"

"Dozens?" Snow interrupted. Bigby winced. That was another part of the story that he had left out before.

"Yes. Dozens," he continued through gritted teeth. "She had made copies of herself. Like reflections, except they could fight. They surrounded me, swarmed at me. You have to understand, Snow, there was nothing else I could've done."

"You could have done _anything_ else, Bigby. Anything you had to do to keep from turning into…" Snow struggled with the right word, but Bigby knew what she was thinking of. _Monster_.

After a moment, the sheriff spoke again. "I think it did something to me."

"I know what it did to you," Snow said, "and you know, too. Bigby, whenever you change, something stays behind." She sighed and bit her lip again.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

Snow looked at him, obviously trying to keep her cool, but failing miserably. Bigby didn't need advanced eyesight to see the tears forming in her eyes. "What are you talking about?" Her voice was tired.

Bigby didn't say anything, but instead held up his hands, letting her see the blood crusted along his fingernails.

Snow sniffed. "What is this? Bragging?"

"It's not Mary's blood, Snow. It's mine," Bigby said.

He didn't think it was possible for Snow's eyes to get any wider, but somehow, they managed. "I don't understand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't either," the sheriff responded grimly.

"How do you know? I mean, are you _sure_ it's your blood?"

Bigby gave her a pointed look. "I think I'd know the smell of my own blood, Snow. It's mine."

Snow shook her head. She sat back down in the chair next to Bigby's. "What does it mean?" she asked.

"I don't know what it means! That's the whole goddamn point!" Bigby snapped. For Christ's sake, nobody in this town seemed to have a clue!

A pause. "Bigby. You need to calm down," she said in a slow voice. It took a moment for the werewolf to realize that his claws and teeth had started to grow longer, and that thick, brown fur had begun to sprout along his chin and eyebrows. After a few slow breaths, they shrunk down to regular size. "Sorry. I'm good," he muttered, though his voice was still low and animalistic.

Snow exhaled slowly and crossed her legs. "OK. Tell me what happened," she said.

Bigby massaged his temples. He was going to fucking kill someone if he didn't get a smoke. Suddenly, he thought of something. _No_ , he thought. _There's no way they're still here_. All the same, he said, "Snow? Do you, um…"

"What is it, Bigby?" she sighed.

The sheriff rubbed his chin. "Do you still have my smokes here?" he asked. Bigby remembered walking into Snow's office a few months ago, a pack of cigs in both of his coat pockets. It had been just three weeks after Charming packed his bags and flew to Europe, pretty Cindy in tow. Snow had been sitting at her desk, reading a missing Fable profile as tears rolled down her cheeks.

When she'd heard the knock on her door, she said hurriedly, "One moment, please!" but Sheriff Bigby Wolf had already opened it.

Immediately, he'd sat down next to her and laid a comforting hand on her back as Snow cried against his shoulder. "I want to forget it," she had said, "but he's just a part of me that's not going away." The sheriff said some kind words, Snow pulled herself together, and then the werewolf had offered her one of the packs. She refused as nicely as she could. "I don't smoke," she had said.

Bigby hadn't been offended or hurt. Instead, he had smiled and said, "Well, I guess you can just keep them here, then. I might need one next time I come to visit."

The sheriff knew it was absurd to assume that Snow had kept them. Hell, she probably threw them out when she moved into Crane's office. But Bigby was surprised to see Snow's features soften at the mention of the cigarettes. "Sure, Bigby. Just give me a second," she said before getting up to rummage through some drawers.

A minute later, Snow came back, holding the pack and a lighter. "Here," she said quietly, handing the items over to him. There fingers brushed each other's slightly as the objects passed from one's hand to the other's.

"Thanks, Snow," Bigby said softly. He stuck a cigarette in between his teeth and lit it. After a long drag, he finally spoke. "I was just walking down the street, and I when I passed by this alley, I smelled blood. So, I checked it out. Mary was in there, and she started slashing at me with this piece of glass. That's when Woody came along."

"Woody?" Snow asked.

"Yeah," he replied quietly. "He showed up with his axe because he heard the fighting. That's when Mary disappeared. And then I realized that my claws were covered in blood, and it was mine. After that, Woody left, and I came to see you as fast as I could." He gulped. "I had to make sure that you were OK."

Snow seemed not to notice the sheriff's affection. Instead, she looked troubled. "Bigby, this is serious," she said. "We need to figure out what Bloody Mary did to you, why you're acting like this."

Bigby shook his head. _She's missing the whole goddamn point_!

Snow looked at him with anger in her gaze. "What?" she asked.

The sheriff exhaled sharply, smoke crawling out of his nostrils. "What if… what if it's not Mary?" he said.

Snow's eyes blazed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know what I said, Snow. What if it's not Mary? What if it's just me?" Bigby said. Snow stood, speechless, so the sheriff continued. "I don't know what's happening, Snow. I don't know any more than you do, but you can't deny that thing's haven't been right since…you know…" He sighed. "Since I killed the Crooked Man. And I don't know if I'm losing my mind, or… I just don't know."

Bigby wasn't expecting the slap. It struck him suddenly across the cheek and left a stinging red mark. " _Ow_!" he exclaimed. He looked up at her in disbelief. "What the fuck, Snow?"

The Fable was standing over Bigby, fury blazing through her scent like an explosion. Her fists were curled at her side. He'd never seen her so angry before in his life. "Don't say that to me!" she shouted. "Don't you _dare_ say that to me. Listen." Snow crossed her arms and locked eyes with him. "This is _not you_. There is nothing wrong with you, Bigby. This is a spell, or a ghost, or something, but don't you ever make yourself out to be the monster."

The werewolf stared at Snow incredulously. "How could you even think that after what happened, Snow? You saw me rip that guy's head off and throw him down the Witching Well like a fucking rock! You know who I am! You've seen what I can do!"

"That doesn't mean that's who you are, Bigby!" Snow said, her tone pleading. "Yes, you've done some bad things, but you can't just forget about all of the good inside you. You mean everything to me, Bigby, and if you think I'm just going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself, then you must be fucking stupid!" She stopped for breath, her face as red as the apple in her story.

Bigby stared at Snow with his golden eyes. "There may not be anything you can do, Snow," he said.

The mayor gulped and turned away. She reached a hand up and seemed to wipe something from her face, but Bigby couldn't see what. "We'll need to do some research. We should talk to Bufkin and the mirror. We'll tear apart that archive if we have to."

"Snow –"

"Shut up, Bigby," she said. Slowly, the Fable turned to look at him. For once, Bigby couldn't read her expression. "I'm going to save your life."


	3. Speak of the Devil

Bigby's hope had started to fade away a few hours after he, Snow, and Bufkin had started research. By 6 in the morning, it was completely gone.

The sheriff looked over at his companions. Bufkin didn't seem fazed by any of this, but then again, he was accustomed to hours of research. Then there was Snow. She was really something else. Bigby wondered how a werewolf could be exhausted at that point, but she was still reading like they had just started.

He ran his fingers through his hair as a loud rumble shook his stomach. When was the last time he'd had an actual meal? Nothing came to mind.

Bigby sighed and closed the book he'd been reading, _The Complete History of Fable Hauntings_. Once he and Snow had gotten to the Archives, he had suggested right off the bat that they use the mirror, but Snow had been a little more hesitant. "Remember what happened last time?" she had said. So, they had agreed to look through the books before confronting the magic mirror. A real stupid idea on their part. Five hours of research, and there was nothing that could explain Mary's appearance in the alley.

Just then, a cool voice spoke from behind him. "Howdy, Sheriff," it said. A cold shiver ran up Bigby's spine.

It took him less than a second for him to jump to his feet, knocking over the chair and the tower of books stacked beside it. "Snow, run!" he yelled, feeling his body change in reaction to his anger. Fangs formed from his teeth, claws from his nails.

But Bloody Mary wasn't making a move to attack. Her glass dagger was gone, and she stood a good few meters away with her arms crossed.

There was no sound from Snow or Bufkin. "Snow, goddamn it, I told you to run!" Bigby growled and sent a quick glance over his shoulder. Then, he squinted in confusion.

Snow and Bufkin hadn't moved from their spots. Both of them were still looking through their books, like nothing had happened.

"They can't hear you, Sheriff." Bigby looked back at the Fable. She smirked. "Right now, it's just you and me."

He snarled, "What are you doing here?"

Mary just raised an eyebrow in amusement. "And here I thought that you were looking for me," she said. When Bigby took a menacing step forward, she wagged a finger and _tsk_ ed. "I really wouldn't do that if I were you," she said. At the werewolf's confused expression, she rolled her eyes and looked at something behind him. Slowly, Bigby turned, his amber eyes widening.

At least half a dozen monstrous copies of Bloody Mary were hunched over Snow and Bufkin, who were still buried in their books, oblivious to what was going on. Bigby didn't know if the figures were real or just in his head, but he wasn't prepared to take that chance. "I'm gonna rip you apart, bitch," he said to Mary.

"You already tried that, Wolfy, and look how well that turned out." She smirked. "I guess it's hard for old dogs to learn new tricks."

Bigby gritted his teeth. He hated playing this game, but he couldn't risk Snow getting hurt. "Cut the shit," he said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What do you want?"

Mary raised her hands in a defenseless gesture. Pretty pointless, considering that she had her weapons poised to kill his friends any second. "I just want to talk," she said.

The sheriff snorted. "Oh, _now_ you want to talk? Well forgive me for not being in a real conversational mood. You didn't seem that chatty during your last visit," he replied sardonically.

"What, that business with the glass? That's just how I say hello. I do it to all my friends." The Fable chuckled darkly, her hands falling back to her sides. "But then again, my friends don't exactly have long life expectancies."

"Oh, yeah. I wanted to apologize about that," Bigby said, curling his lips back in a grotesque tie between a snarl and a grin. "I just wanted you know that ripping poor Dum's throat out wasn't a personal thing. Neither was Georgie getting stabbed." He leaned in as close as he dared and lowered his voice so that Mary could barely hear him. "But tearing your boss's head from his shoulders? That _was_ personal."

While the smile remained on Mary's face, something flashed in her blood red eyes. The werewolf could tell he'd hit home. "I don't need the Crooked Man to have fun," she sneered. "Sure, working with him was interesting. I never got bored, I'll give you that." Mary had started walking leisurely around the table where Bigby had sat. At that moment, she stopped and bared her teeth in a wicked smile. "But I'll tell you what, Sheriff. I was eviscerating children long before the Crooked Man came into power."

Great. She was monologuing. Bigby tried to keep up the pretense of listening while his mind buzzed. If he kept her talking, got her to lower her guard, maybe he could make a move faster than the doppelgangers. He knew how magic like this worked – kill the original, and the copies vanished. As tempting as it was to make Mary's death slow and excruciating, killing her quickly could save his friends.

Content with his plan, the sheriff rose from his fighting stance, like he had given up. "So you don't have a boss anymore. Good for you. Why come back here instead of going off on those killing sprees that you're so good at?" he asked, eyeballing the Fable as subtly as he could. Should he go for the head? Disabling the brain was probably the fastest way to get rid of the doppelgangers.

Mary smirked. "Oh, trust me, I'd love to. Nothing would make me happier than to leave this miserable little town and go my own way." She paused for a moment, as if mulling over what she'd just said. "Actually, scratch that last part," she revised. "One thing would make me happier. Watching you suffer."

No, it would take Bigby a few seconds to bash through the skull. That's enough time for the copies to do some serious damage to Snow and Bufkin. He could go for the throat, but she'd be expecting that.

"Believe it or not, it was a real treat watching you at the factory. For a while, I thought you'd gone soft, but _wow_ , you certainly know how to entertain a gal."

The heart was probably the best bet. It would be a whole lot easier to crack a few ribs and the collar bone than take a gamble on the other vital organs.

"Wasn't it liberating? You must not have gotten a good fight in centuries, not since the Adversary started taking over the Woodlands. I mean, really, when was the last time you huffed and puffed like that?" Mary looked at the sheriff thoughtfully. "You don't notice any connection? Once you started helping out the other Fables instead of eating them, you gave up all the thrills that came with being the Big Bad Wolf. Face it, Sheriff. Being bad is just a whole lot more fun."

So it was decided. Heart it was.

"I hope you're not thinking of doing anything stupid," Bloody Mary said suddenly.

Bigby gave a start, but recovered quickly. "What would give you that idea?" he said.

"Cause you've been eying my neck like a pretty piece of meat for the past 3 minutes," she replied coolly. The werewolf didn't respond. She chuckled. "I don't think you fully understand your current situation. Allow me to enlighten you." Bigby's heart nearly stopped when the Fable nodded at one of the doppelgangers next to Snow. In response, the creature hissed happily and turned its attention to the oblivious mayor. Slowly, it leaned in close and dragged a claw along the right side of her neck, leaving behind a long, thin line of dripping red.

Snow didn't react, except for adopting a slightly bewildered expression and swatting at the air to her right like she was shooing away an invisible fly. "Ouch," she muttered.

Though Snow didn't seem to mind so much, it took all of Bigby's self-control not to launch himself at Mary, claws swinging. "I'll make a hat out of your skin," he snarled.

Mary just smiled. "Will you now? Perhaps you need another reminder." She started to gesture towards the doppelganger.

" _Stop_!" Bigby barked, a little too fast. Mary's hand halted. She smirked. "Stop stalling," the werewolf growled. "No more speeches or riddles or any shit like that. If you want to do something, go ahead and do it. Otherwise, get the fuck out of here."

"Right to the point, aren't you? I can respect that," she said nonchalantly. "I guess I just wanted to let you know that looking through all these fancy books is a waste of time. You won't get your answers down here."

Bigby snorted. "Was that it?" he asked.

"That's it."

"Great. Now get out," he said threateningly.

Mary smiled. She began to turn away, her hands in her pockets. "Just one more thing before I leave," she said over her shoulder. "Don't put all your faith in Snow White. She hasn't been completely honest with you."

Bigby narrowed his eyes. God, he hated this bitch. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Mary responded with a grin and continued to walk away. She waved a hand at her creatures, and they receded into the shadows.

 _Now's my chance_ , Bigby thought. Faster than blinking, he leapt forward. As he bounded towards the Fable, he felt long, grey fur sprout all over his body. His muscles bulked out, and his canines grew so long that they poked out from his upper lip. A roar that shook the building, and the wolfman raised a clawed hand, prepared to rake them across Mary's back.

"Bigby!" a voice said.

His eyes snapped open. The sheriff's head was lying on top of the desk, _The Complete History of Fable Hauntings_ pinned beneath his crossed arms. He shot upward, looking around frantically. As he'd expected, Mary was gone.

Snow was standing next to him, having taken a step back at Bigby's sudden movement. "Bad dream?" she asked.

"Dream?" he repeated, confused.

Snow attempted a smile, but she looked so tired, Bigby could barely tell. "You were snoring two hours after we got down here. We knew better than to wake you," she said jokingly.

"Oh," the sheriff said. "Sorry. Did you guys find anything?"

Bufkin spoke up. "Nothing yet," he said. "But I've been meaning to ask you. Are you sure you actually killed Bloody Mary in that factory? Is it possible that it could have just been another copy?"

Bigby had already considered that. It had seemed like a pretty logical explanation, except for one thing. When he crushed that last monster in between his teeth, he had felt hot blood flood into his mouth. He'd tasted its rich, metallic flavor. All the other monsters had just shattered. But Mary, she'd died. He shook his head at Bigby. "It was her. I know it was," he said.

"I'm afraid we can't go over this right now," Snow interjected. "The office opens in an hour and a half, and I need to get things prepped."

Bigby looked at her with concern. "You don't want to get some shut-eye first? I mean, no offense Snow, but you look like shit."

"Oh, yeah. 'No offense,'" she repeated sarcastically, though her smile was good-natured. She sighed. "I'm afraid not. The Fables need me right now. Crane left a lot of messes we still need to clean up."

The sheriff wasn't happy with the response, but he nodded all the same. "You're going to work yourself to death. At least let me help," he said.

Snow scratched the back of her head. "No. We still need to figure out what's wrong with you. Why don't you check out the factory? There might be some clues there," she said.

Bigby had to bite his lip to keep from objecting. Again, he nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he said with a forced smile. Snow gave him a soft look and started to turned around to head for the door. Just then, the sheriff saw something on the side of her neck. A glimmer of red. "Uh, Snow? You've got a little…"

The mayor's eyes widened in realization. Her hand went up to cover the cut. "Oh, this? It's just a scratch. Must have been a paper cut or something. I don't know, it just kind of appeared there." She shrugged and exited the library, leaving Bigby staring after her. He felt cold.

"Mr. Wolf?" Bufkin said tentatively. "Are you alright?"

"Um, yeah," he responded absentmindedly. "Why don't you go look up some more books, Bufkin?"

The green monkey frowned. "Whatever you say, Mr. Wolf," he said before flapping his feathered wings and taking off towards the higher shelves.

Bigby hadn't moved from his position in the chair. His arms were still crossed over the book. He was deep in thought, and the more he considered his supposed dream, the more troubled he became. Nothing was making sense. He almost preferred investigating the murders of Faith and Lily to not being able to do shit about what was going on. The best option right then was to do what Snow said. The factory was probably the only place he could get answers.

The sheriff couldn't help but think back to what Mary had said to him. What troubled him most about her words was the shred of truth underneath them. He _had_ felt more alive during his fight with her than he had over the past few decades. Letting loose like that was invigorating, intoxicating, almost addictive. That was the real reason why he had pulled off the Crooked Man's head. He hadn't realized how much he had missed bathing in blood and running through the woods of the Homeland. He missed being feared. He missed the days when no Fable dared to cross him.

Bigby cursed. No. That wasn't him. That was just the wolf talking. It _wasn't him_. He looked up in the direction that Snow had gone. Her fragrance still hung in the air. That's the smell that truly made him happy. Being around Snow made him calmer, it gave him a satisfaction that no amount of killing could ever match.

Mary had been right when she said that being bad had been fun. But being good made him feel better, and being around Snow made him feel even better than that.

The werewolf exhaled slowly. He knew he had to find answers. Being attacked in the alley had been a wakeup call. It had reminded him that the Big Bad Wolf could still be scared. But if the alley was a call, then seeing that thing cut into Snow's neck was a goddamn fire alarm. He had to be more careful, or she would get hurt for real next time.

But how? Giving in to his wolf side had been the only thing that let the sheriff catch the Crooked Man. There were things that Bigby simply couldn't do in his human form. He bit his lip. This was hard. To get out of this, he had to be smarter. He needed to be more than just big and bad. But that was all he knew how to do.

Another exasperated sigh. First things first – the factory. Bigby tried to uncross his arms, but they wouldn't budge. He looked down. His claws and come out, and were embedded into the surface of the desk. With a frown, the sheriff managed to wrench them free, leaving ten jagged holes in the otherwise smooth wood.

Bigby raised the claws and peered at them thoughtfully. He noticed a wet red substance clinging to the tip of his right index finger. As he looked closer, the sheriff realized it was blood. He didn't even have to sniff it to know it was Snow's.


	4. The Man in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bigby goes to investigate Sheppard Metalworks, but uncovers a bit more than he had hoped.

Sheppard Metalworks hadn't gotten prettier in the last few weeks. Bigby didn't know if the Crooked Man had been keeping it from falling apart with some kind of magic or what, but since his death, the place had finally started to look abandoned. The sign above the back door looked like it could fall any second. An unusual amount of rust had ravaged the walls in the last few weeks. When Bigby tried to turn the handle to the back door, it fell off.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. At 7 in the morning, the sun had finally started to rise. Streams of sunlight fell through the shattered windows of the factory, illuminating the clouds of dust in the air. As Bigby walked through the second door, his face passed through a thin film of sticky material. Immediately, he started swatting at his face, blowing raspberries to get the strings of silk out of his mouth.

"Fucking spiders," he grumbled as he staggered away from the ruined web. The sheriff continued across the iron grating, silently thanking God that nobody saw him in his moment of panic. I fucking hate spiders.

Bigby took a deep whiff of the air. He had to admit, the witches did a good job of removing all the evidence. All he could smell right then was dust. He continued across the edges of the factory. The board with all the pictures of snow was gone, as was the chained wheel. The sheriff took another step forward, and heard a crunch underneath his foot. Looking down, he saw a shard of broken glass. Part of a mirror.

Bigby bent down and picked up the shard, staring into its surface. "Oh," he said in disgust. The thing reeked with the same rotten blood smell as the alley had. On guard, he scanned his surroundings before looking back into the reflective glass.

This time, a crimson eye stared back at him.

He gave an involuntary yelp and dropped the glass. It shattered as it impacted against the metal ground. He turned and eyed the rest of the factory, taking in every detail with his wolf vision. He was breathing heavily, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Nothing stood out.

A faint shimmer caught his eye, originating from the top of one of the iron bars that crisscrossed the ceiling. With a growl, Bigby leapt onto a nearby beam and climbed up to the light until he reached a point where three beams met, creating a tiny corner. The sheriff pulled himself up so that he was crouched in between two of them. A cheap bathroom mirror rested at the center point, balancing between the three so that it didn't fall over. The sunlight had reflected against its surface, making it shine from its remote position.

"Huh," said the sheriff. He looked around once more. Now that he knew what to look for, he noticed dozens of tiny flashes in between different points of the intersecting beams. There were mirrors scattered throughout the whole factory. "Guess that's how she got around," he remarked quietly. Bigby turned back to look at the mirror in front of him. On its reflective surface, Bloody Mary grinned.

"What the fuck!" He lost his balance on the two beams. He toppled over, flailing as the ground rushed up to meet him.

Bigby's descent was halted when a clawed hand caught on the corner of one of the giant pots that hung from the ceiling. He gripped onto the rim with his right hand, staring down at the concrete floor. He still hung a good 20 feet above it. With a grunt of effort, the sheriff grasped the rim of the pot with his other hand and edged around its circumference until he was within reaching distance of another beam.

Bigby managed to swing his way across two more beams before he jumped down to an area of grating between two large, metal structures. Once he righted himself, the sheriff called out in a loud, rough voice, "Come on! I'm right here, fucker! Come and get me!" But once again, the place seemed completely deserted.

He climbed some stairs to a higher level. "Why are you hiding? Let's finish this!" he roared. The factory remained silent. Suddenly, a voice spoke up

You can't trust them.

Bigby looked around, trying to see where the sound came from. It didn't sound like Mary's voice, though…

You can't trust any of them.

They keep secrets. They lie. They fear you.

It took him a moment to realize that the voices were in his head. "No," he whispered. "No! Stop it!"

Snow. Colin.

All of them. Liars.

Bigby fell to his knees, both hands clasped over his ears. "Shut up!" he cried. "Get out of my head!"

A loud metal clang answered him. All was silent for a moment. The werewolf was on the floor, his breaths slow and shuddering. Quietly as he could, he rose to his feet and peered over the railing. From his position, he could see a figure standing at the entrance of the factory, but couldn't make out who it was. Bigby inhaled deeply and detected the distinct smell of pine.

No way, he thought, jumping over the rails and swinging silently from the other beams to get closer. But his guess had been correct. Woody started walking further into the factory, his axe slung over one shoulder. His heavy boots made a loud clunk sound as they hit the floor.

Bigby waited until the woodsman was almost directly underneath him. Then, he jumped down from the bar, landing a little more than a foot in front of Woody. He barely had time to process what just happened before Bigby knocked the axe from his hand and had him pinned against one of the cylindrical structures, his forearm pressing firmly against the woodsman's neck. "Are you following me?" the sheriff demanded.

"What? No!" Woody responded, still partly in shock.

Bigby pressed his arm harder against his neck. Woody choked. "Then what? You 'heard some fighting' again? What are you doing here?"

"Snow sent me, alright? Just calm down!" The woodsman's expression was one of real fear. Bigby couldn't help but find it funny. Before he moved from the Homelands, Woody had been one of the few Fables that hadn't been afraid of him. Now, he was scared, just like the rest of Fabletown.

Bigby smirked. "Yeah. Snow sent you. I bet." He withdrew his arm from the woodsman's neck only to grab the collar of his shirt and fling him across the floor.

Woody staggered to his feet without grace. "For fuck's sake, Bigby, calm down–" he started to say, but the words stuck in his throat as soon as he locked eyes with the sheriff. They blazed orange and gold, glaring into his own with enough intensity to make him quiver. He gulped audibly. His next words were slow and softly spoken. "Bigby, I'm telling the truth. Snow thought you might need help, so she called me and asked me to come here. You can call her if you want; I'm telling the truth," he said.

All of them. Liars, the voice echoed in the werewolf's head. He tried to ignore it. "Yeah, I think I'll go ahead and do that," he said, "but first…" Bigby knelt down and picked up the fallen axe, never once breaking eye contact with Woody. "If you so much as twitch – you see this axe? – I'll make you eat it." Having said his piece, the sheriff reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He called Snow on speed dial.

She answered on the fourth ring. "Hello? Bigby?" she said. She sounded out of breath.

"Yeah, Snow, it's me. Listen, I was at the factory, and Woody showed up –"

"What's the problem?" she interrupted.

"Did you send him?"

"Yes, I sent him. I thought you might need some help –" Help? Why would she think I need help? "– and I can't really talk right now, Bigby. Goodbye." She hung up before he could say anything.

The sheriff cursed and pocketed the phone before turning his attention back to the woodsman. "I guess we're working together now," he said in a gruff voice. Bigby twirled the axe in his hand before tossing it back to Woody. He caught it with ease. "Damn waste of time, if you ask me."

"Why is that?" Woody asked.

Bigby breathed deeply and gave the factory another once-over. There were lots of things in there, but answers weren't one of them. No good could come of sticking around. "The place is clean," Bigby said. "Nothing to be found." Woody raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "But before we go," the sheriff added, "there is one thing we should do."

"What?" said the woodsman.

"There are mirrors all over the place," Bigby answered. "We should smash them. Just to make sure," he added, catching Woody's confused expression.

They spent the next hour scouring the place, smashing every mirror they came across. As they worked, Bigby kept shooting suspicious glances the woodsman's way. Finally, he sighed. "What is it, Bigby?" he asked.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you. Snow asked me –"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Woody smashed the butt of his axe into one more mirror, then sat back and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Honestly? I've been a pretty shitty person my entire life. The one good thing that I'm known for was a complete accident." He paused in his speech to look at Bigby with his pale green eyes. "I haven't done anything worth shit since we left the Homelands. I'm tired of being useless." Woody got to his feet and swung his axe over his shoulder. "That's why I went over to the alley last night, and that's why I agreed to come here when Snow called."

He sniffed and looked around the factory. "Think that's all of them?" he asked.

"Yeah," Bigby replied, jumping down from his place on some intersecting beams. "Looks like it." He looked at Woody. It was actually kind of nice having the company. It had been a while since he'd just conversed with someone. "You know, I kind of understand how it feels."

Woody laughed without humor. "How can you understand? You're the sheriff; you're always doing shit for people."

"Not so much as of late," the werewolf admitted. "Since the Crooked Man, people just stopped talking to me. I haven't really done anything useful for the past couple weeks." He shrugged. "I guess people just don't trust me with their problems anymore."

"Not even Snow?" Woody asked.

Bigby gave a quick glance towards him. "No. Not even Snow."

The woodsman nodded in understanding. "I guess that explains it."

"Explains what?" the sheriff asked.

"Why she's been spending so much time with Bluebeard."

Bigby froze. Very slowly, he turned until he was facing Woody. "What do you mean 'spending so much time with Bluebeard?'" he asked carefully.

Woody suddenly looked very uncomfortable, as if realizing what he'd just said. "I'm sure it's nothing. You know, it's just that you haven't been around all that often, and, well, Bluebeard has, so…"

"How much time?" Bigby demanded.

"About the same amount that you spent with her. A little more. Sometimes they stay overnight to do some paperwork –"

"Overnight?" Bigby hissed.

The woodsman's eyes widened. "Wait, Bigby, I know what you're thinking, and I don't think that – wait – where are you going? Bigby!" But the werewolf was already gone.

The taxi drive took an eternity.

At least, that's how it felt for him. It took all of Bigby's restraint not to just get out of the car and run the rest of the way in werewolf form. But this was New York in the morning. He couldn't risk being seen by any mundies.

The taxi stopped in front of the office. The sheriff stared at it with hungry eyes before throwing a wad of cash at the driver and climbing out of the car. "Keep the change he growled, slamming the door with enough force to crack the window.

He didn't even remember walking in through the front door and taking the elevator to the basement. All he was aware of was the blood roaring in his ears, the steam train pounding away beneath his ribs. As the doors opened into the Archives, Bigby couldn't help but remember what Bloody Mary had said to him. Don't put all your faith in Snow White. She hasn't been completely honest with you.

There was no way. How could she know?

Bigby stalked into the center of the room, growling quietly to himself. He heard a flap of wings. Then, Bufkin's voice saying, "Mr. Wolf! I found something that I think you might want to hear."

"Not now, Bufkin," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"But –"

"I said not now." Bigby marched straight up to the mirror. A ghostly face appeared through the green smoke clouding its surface. He knew that the mirror could see through time as well as space. It just needed to be asked the right way. The sheriff didn't even wait for it to speak. "Mirror, mirror, show me sin. Tell me where and who with Snow has been," he said.

The mirror looked troubled. "Are you sure this is what you seek? Ignorance is bliss, after all," it said in a warning tone.

Bigby took a deep breath to keep himself from smashing its glass face in. "Tell me," he said through gritted teeth.

"Very well." Dark green plumes drifted along the mirror's surface until the face had completely faded away. In its place, Bigby could see Snow White at her desk.

"Miss White," a voice said. Bigby recognized it as Bluebeard's.

The mayor sighed. "You're late," she remarked unhappily.

"My apologies." The great, hulking figure of the ex-criminal came into view. Just the sight of his face made Bigby's lip curl. This was that day, he realized. The day Nerissa left. "You look awful," Bluebeard continued. "Why not relax a little."

Snow threw him a poisonous glare. "It's the middle of office hours. We can't do this here," she said.

"Take a break, then. I know you must be –"

"Not now, Bluebeard. I'm working." Snow looked back down to the files littering her desk. "We need to stop," she said.

The interrogator was taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about us, going on like this. Bluebeard, you're crazy if you think this could ever…I don't know, turn in to something." It was obvious Snow was having trouble choosing the right words. Bigby was having trouble not morphing into wolf form right then and there.

"I don't care about what it's 'turning into,'" Bluebeard said. He took a step closer. "You're crazy if you think I'm just going to give up."

"This whole thing was a mistake," Snow objected.

"Do you think I care?" He came forward until he was leaning over Snow's desk. "I know you don't really want to stop," he said. "I know what you want."

Snow was livid. "You don't know anything about me," she said.

Bluebeard smirked. His hands traveled across the desk and gently touched the mayor's white blazer. "I know a few things," he said, starting to tug it off.

Bigby had seen enough. His roar sent several books tumbling out of their cases. Bufkin shrunk back from his position on the table. He had looked just as shocked as the sheriff, but right then, he just looked scared.

Bigby whirled around and bound up the numerous stairs in 3 impressive leaps. "Bigby, stop!" Bufkin called after him. "Let's be reasonable about this!"

"I am being reasonable," Bigby snarled over his shoulder. "I will reasonably tear that son of a bitch's head off." He wasn't kidding, either. The werewolf had murder on his mind.


	5. Blue, Black, and Red All Over

Everybody had a scent.

When Bigby was born, his mother had smelled of milk.

When he first encountered Woody, breaking down the door to Little Red's house, he'd carried the musk of pine and dirt.

Beauty smelled like roses. Bufkin smelled like old paper. Snow's smell…well, Snow's was pretty much indescribable.

But Bluebeard scent was that of sweat, silk, and hair-gel. And Bigby could smell it all inside of Snow's office.

There was, of course, a long line of Fables waiting to see the mayor. As the sheriff leapt to the top of the staircase, his eyes like living flames, they all simultaneously bristled. "Everybody get out," he said, his voice. "Now."

"Hey, you can't do that!" One Fable stepped out of the line to face the werewolf "We've been waiting here since –"

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Bigby wrapped a clawed hand around his throat and through him over the staircase. The sheriff listened to his body tumble down the steps before landing on the ground floor with a satisfying crunch. "Anyone else feeling chatty?" he offered. The hallway was cleared in less than a minute.

Bigby stalked to Snow's door. It fell off its hinges with one swift kick.

The mayor was standing in the middle of the room, carrying a manila folder stuffed with documents, and Bluebeard leaned on the edge of her desk. As the door crashed to the ground, they both jumped.

"What the hell, Bigby!" Snow exclaimed in disbelief.

The sheriff ignored her, his gaze travelling to Bluebeard. There was a split second where all was still; Bigby's muscles tensed, prepared to start shredding, and Bluebeard's eyes widened, realizing what was going on. But then the moment was gone. And then the werewolf attacked.

The ex-criminal managed to duck out of the way as Bigby bound forward and buried his fist in the drywall. From what seemed like far away, he heard Snow's frantic voice shout, " _What are you doing_?" but that didn't matter right then. The sheriff was too far gone to listen.

He heard the sound of metal being unsheathed. Bigby locked eyes with Bluebeard, who now held a long dagger in his right hand. The werewolf almost laughed. Steel, not silver. With a ferocious growl, he wrested his hand from the wall, unleashing a white cloud of plaster dust. He glanced down at his bloodied knuckles and flexed them. "You're a dead man, Bluebeard," he snarled. His voice was deep and guttural. It didn't even sound human.

"We'll see about that, Dog-boy," the other man spat. He rushed forward and made an upwards slash with the knife. Bigby dodged easily, and jerked to his left to avoid the next blow. As Bluebeard's momentum carried him forward, he found himself momentarily off balance. The werewolf took the opportunity to grab the man's knife arm and pull it forward, wrenching it out of its socket. He howled in pain.

Bluebeard tumbled to the ground only to find the sheriff's boot swinging towards his face. He rolled out of the way and sprang to his feet nimbly, tossing his blade to the other hand. He barely had time to process things before Bigby launched himself at the man, claws outstretched. The force of the tackle sent them both flying over the desk. They slammed into the wall with enough force to give a mundy a concussion.

Bluebeard was the first to regain his senses. He stabbed at Bigby with the knife, but his left hand wasn't as good as his right. He embedded it in the wall right above the werewolf's shoulder. Bigby felt the air split just next to his neck from the speed of the thrust. With a growl, he jumped up, grabbed Bluebeard by the shirt collar and flung him to the other side of the room. He crashed into a bookcase, reducing it to splinters.

Bigby started to walk over to the dazed ex-criminal. Out of nowhere, Snow stepped up to him. "Bigby, stop," she said. Though she tried to keep her voice firm, it still quivered. Without a second thought, the sheriff shoved her out of the way. She staggered back a few steps with a slight grunt.

Soon, the werewolf had grasped Bluebeard's collar and struck him across the face with a clawed fist. The man's eyes snapped open. He was able to glare at Bigby's wolfish face and curl his lip before another punch beat against his cheekbone. Again, and the ex-criminal's nose crack under the force of the blow. Once more, and two teeth dislodged themselves from his bloody gums.

 _Crack_ was the sound Bluebeard's face made every time Bigby socked him. It bruised and bled a little more after ever blow until small rivulets of blood streamed from his nose and mouth, and his left eye swelled shut.

And still, the sheriff didn't lay up. "You think you know pain?" he said. _Crack_. Another punch. "Once I'm through with you, fucker –" _Crack_ "– you won't even have a word –" _Crack_ " – for how this felt!"

_Splut._

Bigby felt something hard and cold shred past his shirt and plunge into his abdomen. With a bewildered expression, the werewolf drew back and looked down. The leather hilt of a knife could be seen poking out of his stomach. Scarlet liquid began to soak through his white shirt. Bigby looked back down at Bluebeard. The man was grinning at him with what few teeth he had left. "How's that for pain?" he slurred between busted lips.

The werewolf responded by grasping the handle firmly and pulling the dagger out of his gut with a sickening wet sound. The blade glistened with his blood, and he grunted lightly as he dropped it on the floor. "It kind of pinched, to be honest," he huffed. "Now…" Bigby grabbed either side of Bluebeard's head. "Time for your punishment."

Then, he started to squeeze, slowly, but with incredible force. Bluebeard groaned loudly, and Bigby had just felt the first _crunch_ of bone beneath his fingers when he heard Snow's voice from behind him.

"That's enough, Sheriff."

Bigby stopped and froze. Slowly, he turned his head to see the mayor standing behind him, a pistol pointed directly at his head. For a moment, he was confused. Then the truth dawned on him. Once it did, he felt the sharp fingers of hurt start to claw into him.

"Since when did you start carrying around silver bullets?" he asked.

The mayor shifted uneasily in her place. For a few seconds, Bigby didn't think she would answer. But after a moment, she said, "When we raided Sheppard Metalworks, we came across the Crooked Man's stash. We didn't want to throw them away –"

"In case you needed to use them on me," the sheriff finished for her. "I see."

Snow's expression hardened. "You don't get to play the victim here," she said coldly. "Let go of him."

"Are you going to shoot me, Snow?"

"Only if you make me," she responded. Bigby stood up slowly, releasing his hold on Bluebeard as he did. The man fell back to the floor with a groan.

"You're not going to ask me why I'm here?" the sheriff asked. "Maybe that's because you've already guessed." The mayor was silent, so he continued talking. "You've been _fucking_ him? Bluebeard?" he asked in disbelief.

"How could you possibly know that?" she said.

"I _saw_ you, Snow!"

Her eyes widened with realization. After the initial shock of being found out left, anger took its place. "In the mirror? You were spying on me in the mirror?" She exhaled sharply. "I can't believe you'd do that!"

Bigby scoffed incredulously. "You can't believe _I'd_ –" He stopped and took a deep breath. " _Why_ would you do this, Snow? Bluebeard, of all people! He's a criminal, for fuck's sake!"

"I think I missed the part where my personal life was any of your business," she said.

The werewolf almost did a double take. "Your life used to always be my business, Snow! We used to tell each other things! Remember that?"

"Oh right," the mayor recalled sardonically. "I guess that was right before you thought that taking the Crooked Man's head off was a perfectly OK thing to do!"

Bigby's amber eyes blazed. "What are you saying?" he demanded.

"Things were bad when Crane was in charge, but at least we were a team! And then all that crap started happening, and you just… First, Greenleaf's tree, and then you go full wolf and tear Bloody Mary to shreds without telling me! And for the icing on the cake, you rip off someone's _head_! You disregard everything I say, Bigby!"

"And what? Bluebeard listens to you? So that's why you fucked him?"

"I can't believe you! You kept secrets, Bigby, and you –"

"I'm not the only one who's been less than honest," the werewolf interrupted. "Learning about Bluebeard was bad enough, but the _silver_ , Snow? How many of those bullets do you have lying around? Don't tell me you have wolfsbane, too."

"You people are ridiculous," a muffled voice interjected. Bigby looked down to see Bluebeard looking at him. "So what if Snow was enjoying herself a little?" he said. The man paused to spit out a bloody tooth and continued. "You were too fucked up to even care what she –" Bluebeard didn't get to finish his little speech. Bigby's foot came down hard against his skull, slamming his head back down onto the floor.

"You shut the fuck up!" the sheriff growled. He grabbed one of the bars of wood that came from the broken book case. He raised it in the air, preparing to stab its jagged end into Bluebeard's heart.

" _Stop_!" Snow said.

With a snarl, Bigby dropped the piece of wood and looked back at her. "What? You don't want me to kill your boyfriend?" he asked mockingly.

She was quivering in anger. "Get out," she whispered.

"What?"

Snow lowered the gun and pointed at what remained of the door with her free hand. "Get out!" she said. "Just leave. _Now_!"

Bigby huffed. "Fine," he said. He began to turn for the door.

"Wait," Snow said. Bigby turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. "Leave your badge," she finished.

This time, the werewolf _did_ do a double take. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I can't rely on you anymore, Bigby. You almost killed a man. I don't think you're qualified to be sheriff of Fabletown anymore," she said.

"You are unbelievable! I've been sheriff for over three centuries. Now I'm suddenly unreliable because _you_ fucked up?" he shouted.

Snow's face remained stony. "Just put it on the desk on your way out."

Bigby dug into his pocket and pulled out the badge. Without another word, he slammed it down on the desk with enough force to make several cracks in the wood. Then, he left, leaving Snow alone in the ruined office with an unconscious Bluebeard lying on top of a collapsed bookcase.

* * *

Bufkin sat on top of one of the tables in the Archives, looking through an old copy of _Grimm's Compendium_. He muttered angrily to himself. No one ever stopped to listen. No, they were all too busy having sex and looking at mirrors to pay attention to a green monkey. He slammed the book angrily. They were happy enough to condemn him to hours of research without anyone to keep him company. But actually listening when he had something to say? That was out of the question.

Bufkin flapped his wings and flew up to one of the higher shelves, and read the spines of the books. His eyes rested on one. _The Power of a Legend_ , it read. The monkey shrugged. It could be helpful.

He plucked the slim book from the shelf and carried it down to the tables. He flipped it open. That was funny. No author.

Bufkin's eyes scanned through the first few pages. Useless…useless…useless... Wait. The monkey looked back at one paragraph and reread it. His eyes narrowed, and he read it again.

He flipped forward a few pages and looked at another section in the book titled _Manifestation of Urban Legends_. As he read, Bufkin's black eyes widened. His jaw dropped. He snapped the book shut.

"Miss Snow! Mr. Wolf!" he called out. Bufkin took off, flying towards the stairs. "I have news!" he shouted excitedly.

A sudden force knocked him out of the air. With a grunt, the monkey fell to the ground, dazed. He sat up, panting. "Who's there?" he called out. No one answered.

Bufkin backed up a few feet. "Miss White?" he asked tentatively. Again, silence. Breathing heavily, the monkey flapped his wings a few more times, ready to start flying again.

Once again, an invisible force took him from the side, sending him sprawling several meters away. Bufkin reacted instantly, flapping haphazardly to the fireplace at the far side of the room. He grabbed a fire poker and held it threateningly in front of him. He scanned his surroundings cautiously.

The Archives were eerily silent. Not a single sheet of paper was out of place. Nothing made a sound.

The monkey started to edge towards the door, still looking frantically for his assailant. Stillness. Everything was so still.

He made it to the stairs leading out of the Archives without trouble. All was quiet. Bufkin looked around once more, then made a sudden bolt up the stairs, flapping his wings in a panic.

The force that slammed into him was crippling. It shoved backwards, sending the monkey flying down the stairs. The fire poker clattered out of his hands as he landed. All the air seemed to rush out of him.

Bufkin had just jumped to his feet when the invisible force shoved him down again. He tried to crawl away, but it dragged him across the floor.

The monkey was sprawled on his back, staring up at a foe that he could not see. He gulped. "I know who you are," he choked through his fear. "And I know how to stop you."

A ghostly voice seemed to whisper in his ear, " _You won't get the chance_."

And then, everything turned black.


	6. Wishes Do Come True

It wasn't even fucking noon yet.

Bigby had first been attacked by Bloody Mary at 1:00 _that same fucking morning_.

How had everything gotten so fucked so quickly?

The sheriff – or, ex-sheriff – had wasted no time storming out of the building. He knew exactly what he needed right then. A drink.

And so, Bigby found himself standing in front of the Trip Trap soon after his fight with Bluebeard. He still hadn't calmed most of the anger simmering in his chest. Hopefully, getting wasted would extinguish the flame. That, or make it explode. Honestly, either option was just as appealing to the werewolf at that moment.

He started forward, grimacing a little as the action stretched the stab wound in his stomach, which had just started to heal over. In the heat of a fight, when his blood was pumping and his adrenaline was rushing through his veins, Bigby barely even felt the other man knife him, but once his heart rate slowed, it definitely started getting sore.

Bigby walked through the door. As usual, the bar was empty save for Holly and the one-armed Gren. At the sight of him, both Fables tensed visibly. "What're you doing here, Sheriff?" Holly asked carefully.

The werewolf decided not to answer, and instead sat himself down at the counter. "Straight gin," he said gruffly, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always did when he was tired or anxious. Both Holly and Gren eyed him, but neither spoke as she grabbed a glass and set it in front of Bigby. "Gimme the bottle," he grunted as an afterthought. Again, the bartender raised an eyebrow, but said nothing and obliged.

Bigby grabbed the bottle and examined it carefully. Content with the selection, he twisted off the cap and filled his glass. Being a killer half-wolf had its perks. A faster metabolism meant that he could burn through alcohol pretty darn quick. If he timed it just right, he could probably kill a few hours with that bottle, and the hangover probably wouldn't be too bad.

With that in mind, the werewolf downed the glass in two quick gulps and released his breath forcefully at the sharp, piney flavor.

"There something you want to talk about, Sheriff?" Holly asked, eying Bigby as he poured himself another glass. He bared his teeth a little. Why the fuck did she keep calling him "sheriff?"

Bigby lifted his glass off the counter and swished the liquid around thoughtfully. "When was the last time you killed someone, Holly?" he asked in a rough voice.

The troll was taken aback. "What was that?" she asked.

The former sheriff glanced up at her with a look of mild interest. "You heard the question. When did you last kill someone? Anyone. It doesn't have to be a mundy."

Holly gave him a strange look. After a few moments, she responded, "Back in the Homelands. Some stupid imp wandered into my cave. I ate him."

Bigby nodded silently and took another gulp of his drink before turning to look at the Fable sitting a few seats down. "What about you, Gren? When was the last time you took a life? There had to be at least one after you lost your arm." The werewolf paused for a moment, then added, "You know, the first time."

"You trying to start something, Bigby?" Gren asked. He sounded pretty pissed off, but he knew better than to jump into another fight with the Big Bad Wolf. Especially after what happened last time.

But Bigby just shrugged and finished his glass. "I'm just asking a question," he said.

Grendel looked at him. For whatever reason, he felt reluctant to talk about his killing days. Sure, he never shied away from a fight nowadays, but those were different. Outright murdering someone in cold blood? That was something he hadn't done in a long time.

Finally, he took a deep breath. "After Beowulf died, I started terrorizing this one Viking tribe. Same sort of deal as before, breaking in during their feasts, dismembering a few mundies." He took a swig from the beer he was drinking. "I stopped a little while after they adopted Christianity. I don't remember who the last guy was," he finished.

"Hm," Bigby said. About halfway through his third glass, he started to feel it. "The other Fables don't realize how common that used to be. We all live here, trying to act like the past didn't happen, but that kind of stuff doesn't just go away." The werewolf snorted and drained the rest of his glass, suddenly thinking of Colin. "That kind of thing can never be water under the bridge," he had said. Bigby hadn't stopped to think about how right he was.

"All of those _good_ Fables…they're almost as bad as mundies. So fucking ignorant and judgmental towards us beasts." The werewolf snorted. He filled his glass once more, spilling a little bit on the counter. Then, he raised it up in a sloppy toast. "Well, screw those self-righteous assholes," he said before taking another gulp.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Gren asked.

Bigby turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?" he said to the other Fable.

"For centuries, you've been acting like you're so much better than the rest up us. Now you're suddenly all 'monsters unite?' What happened?" he asked.

"Gren, just leave it," Holly tried to say.

"No, I want to know. I want to know why this hypocritical bastard wants to be all buddy-buddy with us," he sneered. "Come on, Sheriff, tell me: do you get your happy off by being a condescending jackass?"

The anger that shined in Bigby's eyes wasn't loud or explosive like it had been with Bluebeard. This anger was slow and subdued, glowing orange like lava crawling down the side of a volcano. "You sure you want to keep talking, Grendel?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, I think I'm pretty damn sure," said the other Fable. "I'm tired of you treating us like dirt, and I'm tired of you trying to scare us into not saying anything."

Holly groaned, obviously not OK with her friend's talking. "Gren…"

"So what was it that made you change your mind about us, Sheriff? Maybe, after you ripped off the Crooked Man's head, you realized you were no better than the rest of us."

"Gren, stop it."

"Or was it something with your girlfriend, that Snow bitch? Did she dump you? Is that why you're acting so pathetic right now?"

The glass shattered in Bigby's hand, and Gren stopped talking. "I think you should leave," the werewolf said, "right now."

Gren opened his mouth to say something, but Holly shot him a look. Muttering obscenities to himself, the Fable got up from his seat, grabbed his beer, and started towards the door.

"You too, Holly," Bigby added. "Both of you, leave."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" Gren exclaimed.

"Gren, _shut up_ ," Holly snapped. Without another word, she walked around the counter, took Gren's wrist, and they walked out of the bar together. As he heard the door close behind them, Bigby stared down at the bar counter.

 _The fuck am I going to do now_? He asked himself. Bloody Mary was still out there. The people he cared about were still in danger, and he was sitting in a bar trying to drown himself in gin. Coming here had been a goddamn waste of time. On a normal day, he'd immediately go to Snow. But then…

Bigby clenched his fist. The shattered remains of his glass dug into the flesh of his palm, drawing blood that dripped into the pool of spilled gin. He asked himself again, _What am I going to do_?

The werewolf looked at the hand clutching the shattered remains of the glass, glaring into the face staring back at him. The glass wasn't a perfect mirror, so the reflection inside of it was faint and warped. Everything except for the eyes. The eyes gleamed on the surface of the glass, too bright and wild to miss.

Bigby cursed and rose from his seat, dropping the bloody shards onto the table. He couldn't do shit without the badge. Not legally, anyway. What options were even left? Go back to the Archives and research with Bufkin? No, that was out of the question. He _couldn't_ go back there. Not yet.

The former sheriff walked around the counter and into the restroom. It was small and grungy. The toilet looked like something might live in there. That didn't matter. Bigby only wanted the mirror. It hung above the tiny sink, speckled with dirt and water stains. But it still reflected decently enough. A few minutes went by when the werewolf just stared into it, thinking. Finally, before he lost his courage, he opened his mouth and spoke.

"Bloody Mary," he said.

Nothing happened. Of course not. Once wasn't enough.

"Bloody Mary," Bigby said again.

The glimmering eyes of his reflection looked at the werewolf as if they were asking a question. _Are you really going to do this_? they seemed to say.

Yes. Yes he was. "Bloody Mary."

This time, he felt the earth tremor a little bit. The Fable thought he saw something shift in the corner of his reflection; a shadow, moving silently. But then he blinked. No, nothing was there.

"Bloody Mary." Bigby's voice was unusually quiet as doubt began to flow through his mind. This was a stupid plan, surely. He was drunk, saying suicidal words into a dirty mirror in a bar bathroom. How did he expect this to end? Bloody Mary would tear his ass to shreds. There was no way he could win; not in his current state.

Actually, there was. Bigby knew it was wrong, but he knew of nothing that could face the beast within him and survive. He still remembered the taste of her blood, the feeling of her body shatter in between his monstrous jaws. It was thrilling and intoxicating, creating a high that almost nothing else could match.

The werewolf drew himself up. He had to finish this. Here and now. He spoke the final words as loudly as he could, enunciating every syllable. "Bloody Mary," he said.

Silence. Bigby waited. More silence. He looked around. Where was she? He looked back at the mirror. "Bloody Mary," he tried again. Nothing.

He shook his head, confused. He had been ready! This was supposed to work! With a roar, the ex-sheriff threw a punch at the tile wall. It shattered on impact, creating a neat, fist-sized hole. "Ow," he muttered, pulling his hand away from the wall.

In a way, it was better that she didn't show up. What had Bigby wanted to achieve from doing that, really? Did he actually expect anything good to come from that?

The answer was no, he realized. He knew that it was a suicide mission. That was the whole point. He'd lost Snow, and he was still in the process of losing his mind. More than anything, he wanted it to end.

At that moment, all Bigby wanted to do was die.

"Be careful what you wish for," Mary said from behind him.

* * *

Snow started down the steps of the Archives, trying to hold her tears at bay. What had she just done? Firing Bigby? Stupid, stupid!

She just threw one of her only true friends out the door. And for what? For Bluebeard? They mayor scoffed at herself. When she pulled out that gun, Snow had known that the criminal wasn't worth it. But doing that to Bigby was more than just saving Bluebeard's life. It was taking control, showing that she wasn't afraid to stand up for herself.

A noble statement. But why did she have to do it like an idiot?

Snow ran her fingers through her hair and pulled out her tight bun, letting the raven-black locks fall down her shoulders. The damn thing was giving her a headache.

Sleeping with Bluebeard was a mistake. She'd know that right when it started. But just doing business, all hours of the day, every day of the week, it drove her crazy. She needed to do something wild, irresponsible. She needed to feel alive.

 _God, listen to me_ , Snow thought resentfully. _I sound like a stupid teenager_.

Snow reached the base of the staircase. "Bufkin?" she called out. "Did you find anything?" Only the stillness of the library answered. "Bufkin?"

Snow walked towards the center of the room, her heels clacking noisily against the stone floor. That was unusual. Bufkin usually answered. Maybe he'd fallen asleep. Wouldn't be the first time.

Suddenly, she heard a groan from underneath one of the tables. Out the corner of her eye, Snow saw a lump of green fur move. Her eyes widened. "Bufkin!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the monkey.

He was leaned against one of the table legs, one hand covering a bloody patch in his fur. His eyes fluttered open. "Miss Snow?" he asked tentatively.

"I'm right here, Bufkin. Tell me what happened," she said. The mayor took his hand and moved it away from his side slowly. Glistening entrails met her gaze. "Oh, God, Bufkin," she breathed in horror. The monkey gave her an apologetic look. "Stay right here. Don't move. I'm going to call Dr. Swineheart," she rushed.

"Stop, Snow! There's no time for that. She'll be back," the monkey huffed, holding the guts in with his paw.

"What are you talking about? Who'll be back?"

"Bloody Mary. She was here," he answered.

Snow blinked. "What? You saw her?"

Bufkin winced. Snow heart the wet _schlock_ of his viscera moving around. "Not exactly," he managed to say. "She can't take corporeal form yet. Only Bigby can see her. But she's getting stronger."

"What are you talking about? When was she here?" Snow asked.

"Just now, but she left all of a sudden. My guess is that some poor soul summoned her. But that won't keep her away for long. Now listen to me," the monkey grunted urgently. "Bigby did kill her at the factory. That much is true. But Bloody Mary is special. She's not just a Fable, she an Urban Legend. People still believe in her. And so long as the mundies believe, she can never fully die."

"I don't understand. Why is it that only Bigby can see her?" Snow's breath caught in her throat when Bufkin choked. "You need a doctor!" she said.

"That can wait," he groaned back. "Bigby's the one who killed her. Once he did, what remained of her essence latched onto his soul. It's been manifesting for weeks now. She's almost ready to take form, but there's one thing holding her back. Bigby's humanity."

Snow waited, trying not to panic as the monkey continued. "Humanity is her weakness. Once she gets rid of Bigby's, she'll be strong enough to detach herself from him, and she'll be free to kill again."

"How would she get rid of Bigby's humanity?" the mayor asked.

Bufkin looked at her. "If Bigby kills again, he'll be lost," he said.

Snow's eyes widened as she recalled the look on Bigby's face when he walked out of her office. His expression, those murderous eyes…she knew she didn't have much time before the werewolf came out. The mayor clenched her hands anxiously. "I need to tell him. I have to hurry," she whispered.

Bufkin nodded. "Give me your phone. I'll call Swineheart. You go after Bigby," he said through his pain.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Snow asked him.

The monkey nodded in response. "Just go."

Snow dug into her pocket and handed him the phone. Then, she bolted for the door. She had to stop Bigby from killing someone, or they'd all be dead.


	7. Teeth, Claws, and Broken Bones

Bigby was too shocked to react when Bloody Mary grabbed him by the shirt and flung him out the door. He crashed into the floor with a harsh grunt. He was lying on his side, his back turned towards the other Fable.

"You know, I was actually doing something," Mary said, swaggering over to him with a hand on her hip. "Pretty darn rude of you to interrupt. But then again, I was kind of looking forward to seeing you again. I've been wanting a rematch."

Bigby said nothing, but stayed on the ground, motionless. "You're just going to lie there?" Mary scoffed. "Well, that's no fun. I wanted to hear you  _squeal_!" As she spoke the last word, the Fable swung a foot at his back with enough force to bring down a brick wall.

Faster than blinking, Bigby rolled onto his knees and caught the boot in his hand, already halfway morphed. "Then I guess you'll be disappointed," he growled, his pearly white fangs glistening in the light. He pushed her leg back, sending her staggering backwards, momentarily off balance.

The werewolf didn't waste a second. He sprang to his feet and slashed a clawed hand at her face. She somehow managed to spin out of the way. Bigby snarled ferociously and lunged toward her once more. She ducked to the side and sent a right hook flying, catching him across the jaw.

Bigby stumbled back, but managed to right himself just as Mary landed a hard kick in his gut. His knife wound screamed, and he slammed into the bar counter, making a long, horizontal bruise where the countertop dug into his upper back.

The Fable rushed towards him. He waited until the last moment, then lowered himself just enough to grab onto her legs and used her momentum to swing her over his head and onto the bar counter. She rolled over to the other side, falling off the narrow counter and landing on the ground. "I'm not going to lose to you again," he said to her. "You're going to die tonight, Mary."

She rose off of the floor and appeared over the bar, wielding a meter-long metal pole in her hand. "I wouldn't count on that, Sheriff," she said, swinging the bar like a baseball bat at Bigby's face. He jerked backwards just in time; the pole's jagged tip whizzed by barely an inch in front of his nose.

Mary jumped onto the bar counter. "I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore, considering," she taunted as she jumped off the countertop, the grasping the pole with one hand over her head like a spear.

Bigby jumped to the side as Mary landed on the floor to his right, sinking low into a crouch, letting her knees take the shock of landing. She twirled around and swung the rod at his head again, this time using one hand, as if she were wielding a baton. He managed to catch its end with his left hand and pulled forcefully, trying to tear the weapon from the other Fable's hand.

Instead, Mary grabbed the pole with her other hand and twisted it around, causing Bigby to stumble forwards. During this moment of imbalance, she threw the bar over his head and tugged it towards her, trapping Bigby's neck between her body and the pole. She dragged him towards the other side of the bar, keeping him in her makeshift chokehold. The metal rod dug into Bigby's throat and up under his chin. He choked, gasping for air.

Thinking fast, the werewolf launched himself backwards, pushing into Mary's body. She recoiled from his touch, as he knew she would, giving him enough space to escape the chokehold. He ducked under the bar and turned to face the Fable, who was still holding the pole horizontally with both hands.

He didn't waste a second to catch his breath, and he grabbed both ends of the bar and shoved Mary backwards. Her back slammed against the wall, her hands still clutching the pole as Bigby tried to push it towards her neck.

Mary locked eyes with the werewolf. At that moment, he was still mostly human. His fangs and claws were out, and coarse brown hair had grown along his chin, arms, and eyebrows. "Are you planning on staying that way forever?" she grunted with difficulty, still trying to keep the metal bar at bay. "We both know you're not going to win this fight hiding behind a human face. Come on, Wolfy. Let's see the real you."

Bigby growled and pushed harder against the bar. Almost unconsciously, his hair began to turn dark grey. More fur sprouted all over his body. He grew taller by at least half a foot, and his shoulders and chest broadened enough to make his shirt rip in two.

Mary grinned. "There you are," she said.

As his arms became larger and bulkier, the metal rod started to bend beneath his monstrous strength. Slowly, Mary's grin started to fade as she tried to keep the now U-shaped pole from splitting her head in two.

All of a sudden, she kneed the wolfman in between his legs.

Bigby's golden eyes widened, and he howled in pain, releasing his hold on the bar. It clattered to the ground, and the former sheriff stumbled back a few feet, his hands traveling to his groin protectively.

Mary sighed in relief. "Whew! That was a close one," she said, cracking her neck. Her eyes travelled to the wolfman, who was still trying to stand up properly. She snickered. "Sorry about that attack on your man-bits. I know, it was a pretty low move, but I couldn't have you injuring me now. Killing  _me_  wouldn't be beneficial in the slightest. Has to be someone else. Besides, even if you did manage to take my head off today, I'd just come back later to settle the score," she said.

Bigby looked up at her and managed to raise himself to full height, even though his groin still throbbed awfully. He opened his mouth and let loose a noise that was halfway between a snarl and a bark. He might've been trying to say something, but as dazed as he was, it was nearly impossible to form anything more complex than one-syllable words.

"Trying to say something, Bigby? It'll have to wait." Mary circled the wolfman, careful to keep herself at a safe distance. "It's been a fun tussle, but I have business to attend to. Catch you later," she said.

She turned her head for a split second – just a split second – but it was enough. Bigby lunged forward and wrapped a paw around her neck. Mary glared into his eyes, her own blazing with fury, before he threw her into the shelf lined with drinks on the other side of the bar counter. Her body shattered the bottles upon impact, and half of the shelf fell down on top of her as she fell to the floor.

In the seconds that followed, Bigby lumbered towards the ruined shelf, growling quietly. Was she dead? Was it even a possibility?

He got his answer when a creature rose slowly from the pile of wood. Its blood red tattoos glowed with an eerie light. Jagged shards of glass stuck out of its ghostly pale skin. It raised its head and looked at Bigby with glowing crimson eyes.

Mary smirked right before she launched herself at him.

They rolled over the ground a few times. The wolfman had his claws embedded into her forearms, holding her away just enough so that her slashes at his throat didn't hit home. Bigby snarled and threw her off of him. She landed a few feet away, and the former sheriff heard the sound of glass shattering as a few of the shards dislodged themselves from her back and hit the floor.

Mary picked herself back up a moment later and started towards Bigby. He rolled to his feet and made an upwards slash at her with his claws. She danced out of the way and retaliated by twirling around with her arms outstretched, creating two shallow cuts across Bigby's right shoulder.

As the wolfman stumbled backward, Mary tackled him across the middle, knocking him off his feet. While they were both on the ground, she managed to drag her long fingernails across his chest, causing him to release a painful growl.

He shoved her off of him and onto her back before straddling her, both hands clutching her throat. Even while she was on her back, Mary slashed at his exposed belly, the edges of glass cutting into his leathery skin.

All the same, Bigby didn't stop or even so much as acknowledge the new injuries. He squeezed her neck, cutting off her air. Mary struggled underneath his massive weight, clawing at her throat, her eyes begging for air. Realizing the struggle was futile, she glared at Bigby with nothing short of pure hatred.

"The least you could do," she managed to choke out, her voice distorted and high-pitched, "is let me see the real you."

Without even realizing it, the wolfman started to change.

* * *

Snow drove down Main Street, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel anxiously. Damn it! Where could he have gone?

She should never had let him leave the building. Now everyone's life was in danger because of her own pride and stupidity. Snow took a deep breath. Beating herself up about wasn't going to help her find Bigby. Right then, she needed to focus on the task at hand.

The mayor looked out the windows on either side of her. The streets were completely empty.  _Come on, Snow. Think. Think_! She looked back at the road, and her heart jumped into her throat. " _Whoa_!" she exclaimed, slamming on the breaks.

Holly and Gren were in the middle of crossing the street. As Snow's car jolted to a halt, they stopped and looked at her. It was hard for her to tell what was on their expressions. Was that…panic?

"Snow!" Holly called out to her. The mayor cursed under her breath. She did  _not_  have time for this. All the same, she got out of the car and walked up to the pair.

"What happened?" she asked in a tired voice.

"You need to get your fucking boyfriend under control, that's what happened!" Gren snapped at her.

For a moment, Snow thought he was talking about Bluebeard, and she nearly screamed in frustration. Then she realized what he really meant. "Bigby?" she asked eagerly. "You saw him?"

"Fuck yeah, I saw him. They guy's nuts!" the Fable responded.

Snow exhaled impatiently. "I get that. Where did you see him?" she asked.

"He's at the Trip Trap." It was Holly who answered this time. "He came in and downed a half bottle of gin. Then he threw us out."

"We stayed behind for a few minutes, though," Gren interjected. "He went into the bathroom, then came out yelling and waving around like crazy. I think you might need a tranquilizer or something."

Snow paled. Damn it. Mary was there. She rushed back into her car without another word. Holly and Gren leapt out of the way angrily as the mayor slammed her foot on the gas petal. She didn't have much time.

She sped passed at least four red lights as she drove like maniac to the Trip Trap. Soon enough, Snow pulled the car up beside the building and bolted out the door, leaving the engine running. She ran around to the front and looked into the window. What she saw made her gasp.

Bigby was in his wolfman form, 7 feet tall and covered in grey fur. He writhed around on the floor. Invisible claws raked across his chest, leaving behind four long trails of glistening red. The ex-sheriff rolled over and sent two punches towards his assailant, growling ferociously.

It looked as if he was straddling someone. Two more long slash marks appeared over his stomach, crisscrossing on top of the mostly-healed stab wound that Bluebeard had given him.

Bigby kept snarling. Snow saw his mouth and nose start to elongate. His body started to get more hunched over, his hands becoming larger, shaping themselves into paws. The mayor's eyes widened. It was now or never.

She busted through the door, her black hair flying wildly in front of her face. Just as Bigby's tail started to form, he raised a bloodied paw and unleashed a roar that shook the entire block.

"Bigby!" Snow called out, her voice breaking.

The wolfman glanced up from his prey, distracted for just a second, but it was enough. An invisible kick to the chin sent him flying. He scrambled to his feet, and Snow saw his eyes follow something into the restroom. " _No_!" he shouted in his guttural, wolfish voice.

But it was too late. From her position, Snow could see just enough of the bathroom to notice the surface of the mirror ripple ever so slightly, like something had just passed through it. After a few seconds of silence, she looked back at Bigby.

He was glaring at her, his amber eyes burning her with their intense gaze. Growling softly, the wolfman walked towards her, his steps loud and heavy.

Snow backed herself up against the wall. Her mind was racing, her heart speeding like a steam train in her chest. She felt pure, cold fear rise up and lodge itself in her throat. As he neared her, her mind quickly traveled to her stash of silver bullets.  _Crap_ , she thought.  _I left them at the office_.

Bigby was standing just a few feet in front of her now, halfway between wolf and wolfman. Snow tried once more to reach him. "Bigby…" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of his name seemed to shock the former sheriff out of whatever trance he was in. His expression turned surprised, then confused.

He began to shrink down to regular size, his face flattening until it was shaped like a human's. His grey fur receded into his flesh, his claws turned back into finger nails, and his fangs pulled back into his gums, revealing normal teeth. The fire in his eyes seemed to lessen in brightness.

Soon, he was standing in front of Snow, shirtless except for a few scraps of white fabric that clung to his arms defiantly. Long cuts split the flesh of his chest, abdomen, and upper arms. Thick, scarlet blood still dripped down his skin. His pants were mostly intact, but a few tears could be seen along the shins and waistline.

Bigby squinted at Snow in confusion. "Snow? What are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse.

The mayor couldn't contain herself. She threw her arms around the former sheriff and buried her face into his chest. She felt his muscles tense at the sudden action. "Snow?" he said again uncertainly. She didn't answer. "Mary got away," he continued.

"Shut up," Snow said. She lifted her face and looked up at the werewolf. "I'm sorry," she added. "I'm just really glad you're OK."

After that, she went back to hugging him. After a few seconds of hesitation, Bigby raised his arms and returned the embrace.


	8. Sorry Just Won't Cut It

The car ride was extremely awkward. Bigby sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, at the road in front of him – basically at everything except Snow. She drove, glancing over at the werewolf every few minutes. She had taken off her white blazer, which was mostly red now because of their brief hug.

_She must be used to washing my blood out of her clothes_ , Bigby thought, scratching at his chest wounds absentmindedly. He was still shirtless, and he was still bleeding slowly on the seat. The wounds were taking longer to heal than regular cuts and bruises would.  _I guess Mary can hurt me more, being inside my mind and all_ , he figured.

Snow bit her lip the way she did when she was thinking. She kept  _looking_  at him. Honestly, it was getting kind of annoying. Bigby sighed. "What?" he asked in a tired voice.

"You're still bleeding," she remarked awkwardly.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at her. "I am," he said.

"Does it hurt?" Snow asked.

Bigby took a moment to think. "Not so much right now. Just kind of sore."

"You can use my blazer if you want," she said, "to stop the bleeding."

"Thanks," he muttered, scooping up the already-ruined blazer from the back seat. He pressed the soft white fabric against the slashes along his torso, applying enough pressure to slow the flow of blood. A few more moments passed by when neither Fable spoke. Then, Bigby sighed. "This doesn't change anything, does it?" he asked.

Snow glanced at Bigby briefly and tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. She was wearing it down, Bigby noticed. It had been a while since he'd seen her wear it like that. "You mean whether or not you're still fired?" she asked. "I don't know. Everything's just really confusing right now. I just want this whole Bloody Mary thing over and done with."

"That's no answer," Bigby said, his tone slightly annoyed.

A pause. "I'm sorry, Bigby. It's the only one I have right now."

They passed a street, and the werewolf looked surprised. "We're not going back to the office?" he asked.

"No. I'm taking you home."

He gave a start. " _What_? Snow, Mary's still out there! As long as she is, we're all in danger. We need to get back to the Archives and figure out how to stop her," he said angrily.

Snow looked at him. "No, Bigby," she said. "The truth is, as long as Mary's still out there,  _you're_  the danger. She's been controlling you. If you go back to the Archives, with all of the weapons and books, and the mirror there, something might happen."

"I'm not being controlled! Snow, I knew what I was doing back at the bar."

The mayor looked dubious. "Did you? Then why did you change?" she asked.

"So that I could win! So I could kill her!"

Snow made an exasperated noise. "You had her on her back. From what I saw, you could have killed her right then and there, but instead, you started to go full wolf. Look me in the eye and tell me that was your decision," she said. Bigby met her gaze furiously, but remained silent. Snow nodded. "Alright, how about this: Look at your claws. Look at the blood underneath them and tell me, is that blood yours or Mary's?" Again, the werewolf didn't answer.

Snow sighed. "You look like shit, Bigby. Just rest for a little bit. That's all I'm asking. Get some sleep."

"Fuck sleep," he responded. "I'll sleep when Mary's dead."

"And how do you propose we kill her?" she countered. "You wolf out again? That's not the way, and you know it. If you want to contribute to this investigation, I need you sharp and strong. For that, you need rest."

"So I'm just supposed to sit on my ass and do nothing?" the former sheriff asked in a biting tone.

"No!" Snow answered quickly. "Just lie low for a little bit. Bloody Mary is tied to you, and from what I've seen, she tends to stick around you unless she has a specific reason to leave. Maybe if you just stay in your apartment for a few hours, that would give us enough time to think of some solutions." She looked at Bigby with pleading eyes. "Please," she said. "Just give your body a break. You'll be more useful that way."

_Useful_. That's a word for him. Don't get yourself killed – it wouldn't be  _useful_. Bigby snorted unhappily, but nodded.

A few more minutes passed in silence. Snow stopped the car as they came up to a red light. Finally, she spoke. "Bufkin got attacked in the Archives," she said.

The werewolf looked at her, his golden eyes widening in alarm. "What? When?" he asked.

"I think right after you left. He said that he was reading about Bloody Mary when something started slicing him up. He thinks it was her," Snow told him, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road.

"Mary?" Bigby said in confusion. "Why would she attack him? Why then?"

"Because he figured something out. He knows why she hasn't killed you yet." Snow met the werewolf's gaze. "She needs you. If she can get you to take another life, then she'll be able to take full form and start killing again."

Bigby broke eye contact and instead stared into the distance thoughtfully. The hand holding Snow's bloody blazer dropped into his lap. The bleeding had stopped, anyway. The werewolf found himself thinking back to what Bloody Mary had said in the Trip Trap. "I was actually doing something." Now he knew what. "She would have killed him," he said slowly. "If I hadn't summoned her, then Bufkin would be dead."

Snow nodded. "I guess I should be thankful for that," she said.

"Is Bufkin OK?" Bigby asked.

The mayor hesitated. "I don't know. He was in pretty bad shape when I left. I gave him my phone so that he could call Swineheart. I was going to use your landline when we reached the apartment," she responded with difficulty.

The werewolf's breath caught in his throat. Bufkin could be dead because he couldn't get a grip.

Snow seemed to recognize his expression. "Hey," she said softly. "It's not your fault. Mary was going to kill Bufkin because of what he was going to tell us, but she didn't succeed. Maybe since we already know, she'll leave him alone."

"I doubt it," Bigby muttered. Another moment of quietness. "I guess that's another reason why you want me to stay at the apartment," he said. "Less Fables around for me to kill."

Snow looked troubled. "The thought did cross my mind," she admitted.

Bigby took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll stay. Just for a little while," he said.

Snow turned to him and smiled. "Thank you."

The light turned green, and they started moving again. Soon enough, the pair reached the apartment complex where the former sheriff lived. They walked in through the front door, trying to look as inconspicuous as they could. The task soon proved impossible, with Snow carrying her bloodstained blazer in her arms, and Bigby walking around with massive cuts and bruises decorating his bare chest.

Beauty was still at the counter. She lifted her head at the sound of the door closing. At once, she adopted an expression of shock and horror. "Wha – what happened?" she asked hysterically. "Miss White?"

Snow walked up to the front desk as Bigby climbed the stairs slowly. "We're going up to Bigby's apartment. Make sure we're not disturbed," she said. Without another word, the mayor turned around and headed up after her companion.

They walked through the door, the werewolf closing it behind them. "Hey, Colin! I'm back!" he called out. Snow looked confused until the pig walked into the living room. Then, she just looked angry.

"You said you were sending him to the Farm!" she whispered furiously, quiet enough so that Colin couldn't hear.

"Can we please talk about this later?" Bigby whispered back before addressing his roommate. "Snow's just gonna use the phone real quick," his said.

Colin snorted indifferently. "Whatever you need," he told Snow before eying the other Fable strangely. "What happened to you? You look like you just got a full-body massage from a cheese grater."

Bigby passed a weary hand over his face. "I'll explain later. Snow," he said, "the phone's in the kitchen. Let me just wash up." After that, the mayor found her way to the other room while the former sheriff walked into the bathroom.

He stared into his reflection with gleaming orange eyes. Colin hadn't been exaggerating. His torso was torn to ribbons, with bloodstains streaming across whatever skin hadn't been shredded. While they weren't bleeding anymore, the wounds were still open and ugly, exposing some of the muscle and sinew that stretched along underneath his skin. He winced sharply as he grabbed a towel and soaked it in a nearby bottle of antiseptic. It stung like hell when he pressed it against his chest.

Bigby came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with gauze swathed around his torso. He was buttoning up a semi-fresh shirt and looking around. His eyes rested on Colin as he trotted out of the kitchen. He started towards the pig, his shirt still only halfway buttoned. "Hey, can we talk?" he asked.

Colin shifted uneasily beneath the werewolf's amber gaze.  _Can't people just get over it? Yes, my eyes are still wolfish – big whoop_ , the former sheriff thought grumpily. "Sure," the pig replied cautiously.

They walked further into the living room. Colin jumped onto the chair while Bigby leaned against the TV stand. He could hear Snow talking in a hushed tone on the kitchen phone. "I wanted to apologize for earlier," he began. "I was being an asshole, and I just felt like yelling at someone."

"I agree. You were being an asshole," said the pig matter-of-factly.

Bigby had to breathe deeply to keep from getting angry. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I should've listened to you. I know that you were just trying to help. I admit that I haven't been myself lately, but I promise I'm going to fix it. I just need some time to adjust after what happened with the Crooked Man."

"You have had time," Colin pointed out. "It's been weeks."

"Shut up, I'm seriously trying here," the werewolf snapped.

"That didn't sound very apologetic," the pig said.

"You're a moron."

Colin tried to look offended, but couldn't help the smile from finding its way onto his face. "Apology accepted. Anyway, I wanted to ask – what's Snow doing here? I thought you guys weren't talking anymore."

"A lot's happened in the past 12 hours. I'll fill you in later," Bigby promised, glad that his roommate was no longer mad at him.

Colin nodded. "Whatever," he said. "I'm gonna take a nap. Mind if I use your bed?"

Bigby did mind, but he knew Colin was just going to use it anyway. So, he shrugged his shoulders indifferently before the pig jumped off the chair and made his way into the bedroom. "I might get a snack in a little bit. I suggest you use the spare time to talk to Snow." At the werewolf's surprised expression, Colin smirked. "You two need to talk. You don't need to be a genius to see that," he said before closing the door.

The werewolf shook his head and smiled. Colin could either be an obnoxious dumbass or an insightful friend. It really depended on his mood.

He heard Snow hang up and enter the room, her mostly-red blazer in hand. "I just got off the phone with Swineheart. Bufkin's going to be alright. He just needs to take it easy for a couple days." She looked down at her blazer and sighed. "Look, Bigby. I… I'm sorry about earlier. I was out of line."

"No, you were right. I do need sleep," the werewolf conceded.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

Bigby's expression darkened. "Oh," he said quietly. A few seconds of silence. "It wasn't any of my business, Snow. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did. I distanced myself from you, Bigby. After the Crooked Man, I felt like I couldn't trust you. And instead of trying to fix it, I got silver bullets and I…with Bluebeard, I…" She didn't finish the sentence, her eyes watering.

The werewolf's eyes softened. "Snow, I was just as wrong. I isolated myself, I got angry, and the entire time, I could have gone to you for help. Maybe then, this whole thing could've been avoided." He scratched the back of his head. "I guess we both kind of fucked up," he remarked.

Snow attempted a chuckle, but it still sounded sad. "Yeah. I guess we did," she sniffed.

They spent a good couple of minutes just looking at each other, as if wanting to speak, but not being able to find the right words.

Bigby shifted his weight and looked down. "Snow? Do you think you could stay?" he asked quietly.

She looked surprised. "What?" she asked.

The werewolf took a deep breath. "Could you stay here for a little while?" he repeated.

The mayor stammered, "I – I really shouldn't. I mean, there's Bufkin, and the office is still open. With Bloody Mary and everything, I just don't –"

"I'm not asking you to abandon your job. Just…maybe if you don't leave so soon. I was kind of hoping…" Bigby trailed off awkwardly. "Please," he finished.

Snow swallowed. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, then back up at the werewolf. Finally, she nodded, smiling uncertainly. "Just, um, let me get washed up," she said, gesturing to her bloody blazer.

"Yeah, of course," Bigby said a little too quickly.

Snow smiled at him again before walking into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her. Bigby looked after her, mentally kicking himself for his awkwardness.

"Aaww. Isn't that sweet?" a voice said from behind him.

The werewolf whirled around and came face to face with Bloody Mary.

For a split second, he was frozen in shock. Then, he adopted a fighting position and growled, "I won't let you hurt anyone."

The Fable raised her hands in defeat. "I'm not killing anyone," she said sweetly. A pause. "Well, except for Snow.  _Her_ , I'd like to eviscerate. Kind of like what I did to poor, dear Bufkin," she added with a chuckle.

Bigby felt his teeth and claws grow. "I'll kill you first," he snarled.

To that, Mary only smiled. "You're welcome to try," she said.

The werewolf lunged forward, claws outstretched. She evaded the attack, dodging swiftly to the side. "You might want to aim a little to your left," she advised. He slashed towards her again. She ducked and pulled up next to him. As Bigby turned to face her, he was met with a powerful uppercut that made him stumble backwards. "An eentsy bit higher next time," Mary said in the same friendly tone.

He righted himself and swung a fast right hood at her jaw. She spun away with ease. "You have to predict where I'm going to be," she called to him. "Perhaps I'm at your right." A second later, Bigby felt her kick hard against his right side. He growled and set a fist flying in her direction, but she was already gone. "Or," he heard, "I'm closer to your head." A swinging kick seemed to come from above, colliding with his head and making him dizzy. Again, Bigby looked up, but the Fable had disappeared.

"Or just maybe," she whispered in his ear, "I'm right behind you."

Roaring ferociously, the werewolf spun around and slashed at her with his claws. He growled in satisfaction when he felt them shred into soft, pink flesh.

His grin evaporated when he realized it was Colin's.

The pig was still for a moment. He looked up at Bigby, confused, before crumpling to the ground.

The werewolf's eyes widened. "No!" he shouted, falling to his knees. He gathered the pig into his arms and shook him lightly. "No no no no no. Colin? Colin, stay with me, buddy," he said, his heart racing.

The pig stared at Bigby, puzzled. "Bigby?" he said weakly. Blood poured from the deep claw marks that ran from his heart to the center of his belly.

"I'm right here, Colin. Just stay awake, OK? Whatever you do, don't fall asleep. I'll fix you, just hang on." Bigby looked up. "Help!" he screamed. "I need help! Snow!"

"Why did you do that?" Colin mumbled.

Bigby looked back down at him. He looked so small. "I'm sorry," he choked, tears forming in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. Please, stay with me."

But the pig just gurgled painfully, and then he was still.

Sudden excruciating pain stabbed into the werewolf's heart. With a gasp, he dropped the body of his friend and fell onto his back, clawing at his chest. Red mist started to float up from his pores, circling playfully around the pig's corpse before flying out the window and into the streets.

It felt like Bigby was having a heart attack. He gasped and choked as the red mist wrenched itself out of his body. He tried to cry out, but his voice failed him, and instead he just writhed on the carpeted floor.

As the last of the mist separated itself from his flesh and drifted out the window, darkness started to cloud his vision.

As if from far away, he heart the bathroom door open. "Oh my God, Bigby," Snow said. "What have you done?"

Then the werewolf was swallowed by blackness.


	9. Goodnight, Sleep Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is something I wanted to address before starting this chapter. When I started this story, I had not read the comics, only looked up specific events on the Fables wiki page. Recognizing that there are a lot of small details that I made mistakes on, I started reading them just this morning. I just now finished the first 20 issues, and wanted to say that I am so sorry for any inconsistencies I have in the story.
> 
> Just to clear things up: My fanfic takes place in the late 90's, simply because it's difficult for me to write stuff in the 80's, seeing as I wasn't even alive back then. For this reason, Snow White does have a cell phone, but that's the only big thing that's changed in my story because of its time.
> 
> Also, I decided to try out a different style in this chapter. If it's not your cup of tea, don't worry; I'm not going to continue it later in the story. You'll find out what I'm talking about as you read on. With that in mind, please enjoy this chapter, and I will see you when I post the next one!

_Bigby could hear them, in a way. He could understand what was happening, but it seemed like it was going on somewhere far away, affecting other people. He could not move or speak, only remain limp and useless. Even though the werewolf felt strangely disconnected from the events unfolding around him, when Snow dropped his head on the elevator floor, it still hurt._

_She struggled to lift him up off the ground when the doors opened. "Beauty, help me carry him to the car!" Snow said as she lugged Bigby's unconscious body out of the elevator and into the lobby. The other Fable circled around the front desk and walked over the mayor._

_"What happened?" she asked, grabbing the werewolf around the ankles and hauling him off the ground._

_Snow didn't answer. Her arms were circled around Bigby chest. With Beauty's help, they carried his comatose body to her car. "I'm taking him back to the offices. Stay here. Whatever you do, do not go into the streets. If anything happens, call me immediately, and smash as many mirrors as you can find."_

_They voices were warped and difficult to understand. Bigby felt himself sink into a dream that carried him back by centuries._

* * *

 

He was running. The full moon glowed overhead. In the dense, piney forest, Bigby could almost forget about all the troubles and responsibilities that came with living in the mundy world. As he sped along the dirt trails, wind whipped through his fur, he was able to melt into his wolf form, give in to the beast that had been clawing at him ever since he first turned human.

Suddenly, a familiar scent entered his nostrils.  _Oh, no_ , the werewolf thought solemnly.  _Not her_.

Well, it wouldn't do much to stall this meeting. He knew she'd be waiting for him even if he took hours. So, Bigby halted in his tracks, turned around, and bounded back to the edge of the forest, where Snow was waiting for him.

She was dressed in her usual getup nowadays – a soft blue dress with white lace trimmed around the edges of her sleeves, the low neckline, and at the bottom of her floor-length skirt. She'd cleaned up well after fleeing from the Homelands, but if one was looking close enough, they could still see the haunted look in her eyes.

But right then, she just looked royally pissed off. "Change back and put these on," she snapped, throwing him a flowy white shirt and greyish-brown trousers.

Bigby sniffed at the clothes reluctantly. He really didn't like wearing them. They felt so…constricting. All the same, he picked them up between his jaws without complaint and wandered behind a large tree. A few moments later, the werewolf emerged in human form, wearing the garments given to him. He scratched the back of his head. "So who told you?" he asked. "Was it Jack?"

Snow scoffed. "It doesn't matter who told me! The point is that I know," she said angrily.

Bigby nodded. "So it was Jack, then."

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, a habit that the werewolf found most strange. Maybe it made her feel better. "These nightly activities of yours have to stop," she said, ignoring his statement. "How can you pass as human if you're constantly reverting to your old form?"

"I am trying! You have to keep in mind that this is a difficult thing to go through! I've never been human before. You need to let me adjust using my own methods," Bigby said, trying to sound more sophisticated. He knew that Snow tended to listen to him more when he spoke like that.

His tactics didn't seem to work this time. "What would you have done if a human had seen you? If you had revealed our secret somehow?" she demanded.

"I made sure I was alone. And if a human had seen me, I would have made sure they didn't live to tell the tale," the werewolf stated.

Snow took a step closer and lowered her voice. "Killing people attracts attention, Bigby, and we're supposed to be living here peacefully. You cannot keep doing this. You were supposed to renounce these habits when you agreed to become sheriff."

"That was only a fortnight ago," he pointed out. "I need time."

"Then I suggest you get this out of your system quickly. I won't tell anyone about this, but if you keep doing it, then someone else, besides Jack, might find out," Snow said.

Bigby took a deep breath. "Fine," he growled. "I'll be more careful."

The woman seemed satisfied. "Good. Now let's head back to the city. It's late," she said. She held out a hand for the werewolf. Reluctantly, he took it, and they walked out of the forest together.

* * *

_The werewolf emerged from his dream just in time to hear Bufkin say, "Colin is dead?"_

_"Yes. Bigby killed him," was Snow's response. Without opening his eyes, Bigby could tell they were in the Archives. He felt a cold stillness in the air that could only come from fear. Both of them were terrified._

_"Then Mary is free. We failed," the green monkey said, his tone defeated. "What should we do?" he asked._

_"I don't know. I'm not even sure what happened. I went into the bathroom, and when I came out, Colin was in a pool of blood and Bigby…" She gulped. "He was so cold. I thought he was dead until I checked his pulse." He heard her take a long, shuddering breath. "I don't know when he'll wake up – if he even does, and I don't know if he'll be himself whenever that happens."_

_"What do you mean?" Bufkin asked._

_"I mean Mary changed him. She's been growing inside him for weeks, and just now, she got him to kill someone. I mean that…if he wakes, who will be there? Bigby, or the Big Bad Wolf?"_

_Bufkin started to say something, but his voice became softer. Everything got very quiet and fuzzy as Bigby fell into another memory._

* * *

"Go! Everybody get out!" the giant wolf shouted over the screams and cries of panicking Fables.

A fire raged in the wooden buildings of the enemy camp. Soldiers of the Adversary fought against the now-free hostages as Bigby hurried the remaining Fables out of their prison.

Furious heat beat against the wolf's back. He still couldn't believe that he managed to set the whole camp on fire without getting burned even a little bit.

"Come on!" he roared at the Fables that still cowered in the corners of their cells. "Do you want to die here?" As he was finishing the question, Bigby felt a presence try to sneak up on him from behind. Without so much as looking, he whipped his tail to the side, knocking the warrior off his feet. While he was still in the air, the wolf whirled around and caught the soldier in his mouth. He bit down on the screaming Fable, recoiling slightly at the foul taste of his flesh.

Once the soldier stopped flailing around, Bigby dropped his body on the floor and turned back around to address the prisoners. "Well?" he snarled at them impatiently.

Most of them didn't respond, but one gnome spoke up. He was either very brave, or very stupid. "I'm n-not g-g-going with you," he stammered. "I know w-who you are. How do we kn-know you won't just k-kill us as soon as we're f-f-free?"

The beast lowered his head so that his golden eyes were staring right into the gnome's. He took a menacing step forward, and the gnome took a frightened step back. "First of all," the wolf growled, "I wouldn't just kill you. I'd eat you alive. Secondly, do you honestly think that this whole attack on an enemy camp was just so that I could get a snack? Thirdly, I might just eat you if you keep that big mouth running."

"If you don't want to eat us, then why are you setting us free?" a lamb spoke up from the small group.

Bigby rolled his eyes. Most of the other prisoners that he'd freed hadn't been so talkative. "The Adversary's been stealing my prey," he said curtly. "Nobody does that without paying. Now do you want to leave, or should I eat you, too?"

The Fables didn't waste any time making further arguments. They jumped to their feet and scurried out of their cells as fast as their tiny legs could carry them. As the last of them exited the camp, the wolf padded silently out of the prison. The other building had begun to collapse in heaps of ash and charred wood. He soaked in the smell of burning bodies and the sound of bloody screams. Bigby couldn't help but bark out a laugh. The chaos was intoxicating.

While the flames continued to roar, the giant wolf walked through the camp. He had almost reached the treeline when a thought crossed his mind. He looked back at the ruined camp. What the hell? It had been a while.

He turned so that his entire body was facing the camp, and then he sucked in a deep breath. Wind whistled as it passed through his teeth, down his windpipe and into his lungs. Then, with all the force he could muster, he blew.

The flames, which had been so large and strong mere seconds before, dwindled and disappeared. The burnt ruins of the camp flew through the air, and what soldiers were still alive screamed with pure terror as their bodies were flung across the large hill and into the woods on the other side.

Once the damage was done, Bigby turned back and padded into the forest, chuckling to himself. Now  _that_  was fun.

* * *

_He knew Snow was sitting near him. He could feel her fidgeting in her seat, and he could hear her sigh heavily. He could smell her sadness._

_A voice spoke, gruff and tired. "How long has he been asleep now?" Bigby recognized it as Woody's. What was he doing here?_

_Snow paused for a moment before answering, "Almost two days. I'm starting to wonder…"_

_"He's been through worse," Woody assured her, trying to sound comforting. "I once sliced open his belly and threw him in a river, and that didn't kill him. He'll be fine, just wait."_

_Bigby could tell that Woody's words weren't doing anything. Snow still smelled miserable. Still, she responded as if she felt better. "Thank you, Woody," she said kindly. There was a pause. "So what did you want to talk about?"_

_Woody hesitated. "I checked my apartment, and my axe was definitely stolen. Apparently, Ms. Muffet came home to see Spider chopped to pieces in their bathroom," he said._

_"Oh my god," Snow said, her voice barely above a whisper. Bigby heard her swallow. "This is the fifth murder since Bigby fell unconscious." Another moment passed by when neither spoke. Then, Snow murmured, "So…I guess Bluebeard…"_

_"Yep. He left to go after Mary just like he said he would. I still haven't heard back from him, but judging from what's been going on…" Woody trailed off. "There's a good chance that I won't hear from him again."_

_"I don't know what to do," Snow admitted. "I don't know what's going to happen."_

_Woody took a deep breath. Bigby heard him scratch his bald head. "To be honest? Neither do I," he said._

_Bigby wanted to call out. He wanted to wake up and wring Bloody Mary's neck. But he remained motionless and felt himself drift into his past once more._

* * *

 

The wolf was crouched in the forest behind a wooden cabin, his belly low to the ground. Scents wafted towards him from the cabin, smells of spices and flowers and happy old Fables. Smells of home. It made his mouth water.

_No. Not this_.

The wolf crept forward, nearing the cabin swiftly and silently, its large paws not making a sound against the grassy floor. He circled around to the front door and pushed on it slightly. It opened with ease.

_I'm not like this anymore. I don't want this memory_.

The scents inside the home were almost overwhelming. The wolf padded along the floor, sniffing around the small room. A round dinner table sat in the middle of the floor, resting on top of an intricately knitted carpet. An oven and several drawers lined the wall next to the table. Above them hung paintings of nature – ponds filled with ducks and lily pads, deciduous forests in autumn time, with each leaf a different shade of orange. Several flower pots had been carefully placed on the window sill, bundles of pink carnations sprouting from the soil.

_I can't do this again. I can't._

The wolf had had his sights set on the cabin for quite some time. He'd watched Little Red walk up to the cabin every Sunday to bring her grandmother a basket of rolls and a fresh pot of flowers. He hadn't tasted a young girl like her in far too long. Sure, the wolf had eaten his fair share of old women, but Little Red? She was a delicacy that he came across all too rarely.

_Stop. Stop!_

A sudden noise made the wolf snap his head towards the doorway leading further into the house. His amber eyes gleamed with hunger. Red wouldn't be there for at least another 20 minutes. He could have a snack while he waited.

_Bigby stirred in his sleep, trying desperately to escape the memory. It wasn't like that anymore. He didn't want to relive that memory_.

The wolf padded into the next room, growling softly. He passed by a couch and a loom for weaving. Those were useless. The real treat was snoring in the very next room.

He entered the bedroom. A lump could be seen shifting under a quilt. The wolf walked around the large bed to get a better look.

A small, old woman was sleeping on the cot, buried beneath her ocean of blankets. Thin, silvery hair fell across her cheeks. Her face was wrinkled like an old fruit, and she smiled in her sleep.

_Don't do this, Bigby pleaded in his mind. Don't do it._

The wolf grinned wickedly, revealing his fangs. Time to dine. He lunged forward suddenly, mouth open wide.

_NO! Bigby screamed internally as the scene around him evaporated into colored mist, leaving him in a dark, swirling void. He kicked and thrashed in the empty space, clawing himself out of his slumber._

_I'll kill her, Bigby thought. I'll kill Bloody Mary._

_I will rip her to shreds._

He opened his eyes.


	10. How to Kill a Ghost

Bigby bolted upright, cold sweat running down the back of his neck. His breath came out in shuddering gasps, and a high-pitched noise rang in his ear. "Snow?" he rasped. His throat was so dry, and he coughed.

He tried to look around at his surroundings, but his vision was blurry. From what he could tell, he was in the Archives, lying down on an old couch. He heard a sudden voice exclaim, "Bigby!"

The werewolf turned to his left and squinted. He could see a small, blurred figure hurrying towards him. From the scent, he knew it was Snow. He tried to speak, but all that came out was an unintelligible croak. He panted, his breathing heavy and uneven. After he swallowed a few mouthfuls of saliva, he managed to say, "Wha…what happened?"

Snow took another step towards him, but stayed a safe distance away. "Listen, Bigby, you're alright. Just calm down," she said to him in a quiet, careful voice.

"What. Happened?" he snarled at her.

She stepped back at his tone. "You need to slow down. Mary –"

"Mary!" Red-hot anger bubbled in the werewolf's stomach as he recalled the red mist tearing itself from his body. His golden eyes blazed, and he shoved himself off the couch only to fall to knees with a grunt. His head swam, and a sharp pain jabbed through his chest.

"Bigby, please!" Snow said. She hesitated for just a moment before coming forward to help the former sheriff to his feet. "You haven't eaten or drunk anything for the past four days. You need to calm down," she said.

"I'll calm down – ach! – after I've gutted the bitch," Bigby growled, struggling to his feet. His limbs trembled. It felt like someone was grabbing his heart and wringing it like a wet towel. He choked back a yelp.

"Stop!" Snow exclaimed. Throwing away all caution, she came rushed and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please –"

"Don't touch me!" the werewolf barked at her. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he clutched at his chest with a clawed hand. With a moan, he sank back down to the couch as another spasm of pain shot across his heart. He shuddered, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision.

Bigby tried to breathe deeply, but tendrils of agony crawled beneath his ribs with every inhale. Still, as the oxygen flowed through his body, the werewolf managed to calm down enough for his claws and fangs to retract. Snow waited until he had taken a few shallow breaths before speaking. "We don't know exactly what Bloody Mary did to you. Now just sit down before you give yourself a heart attack," she said sternly.

"I'm fine. I just need to –" Bigby didn't get the chance to finish his sentence before he was overcome with a fit of coughing. He hacked into his palm, trying to keep from tearing up because of the agony that wrenched through his chest with every cough.

Snow sat down beside him and rested a hand on his back. She looked at him with concern. "Take it easy," she said.

"I can't…take it easy," Bigby panted. He looked down at the hand that he had coughed into. A small puddle of blood rested in the center of his palm. "While I was asleep… I heard…" He swallowed down a mouthful of bile.

"What is it?" Snow asked, her voice soft.

The werewolf glanced up at the mayor, closing his hand so that she couldn't see the blood. "How many Fables have died since I set Mary free?" he asked. Snow didn't answer. "Tell me," he pressed.

Finally, the mayor sighed reluctantly. "Twelve, last time Woody reported back to me," she said.

Bigby nodded slowly, his eyes distant. "Twelve," he repeated. His voice was hollow. "I killed twelve Fables."

"Mary killed twelve Fables," Snow corrected immediately. "There was nothing you could do."

The werewolf said nothing, but looked to the side. A cold feeling crept down his throat and rested in the pit of his stomach. He recognized it as guilt. "I need to stop her," he said.

"You can't. Not in your current condition. You need rest," Snow insisted.

"I've been asleep for four days," Bigby said. "I've been doing nothing for four whole days. I can't just sit back and let her kill anymore, Snow. I need to end this." He made a move to get up.

"Bigby, stop!" she shouted at him. The mayor stood up, grabbed the former sheriff by the shoulder, and shoved him back down onto the couch. In his state, it didn't take much force. "You will get yourself killed for nothing! We can't just charge in half-assed. We need a plan of attack. And right now, you can't do shit. So sit down, shut up, and just listen to me for once in your life!"

Bigby stared up at her, too shocked to say anything. Snow pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. "Now," she began, "I know this must be difficult for you. We don't know a lot about what Mary might – what is it?" The werewolf had been peering at her with an expression that she could not identify.

"Difficult?" he repeated quietly. "You think this is 'difficult' for me?"

Snow sighed heavily. "Please, just let me finish," she said.

"I killed Colin, Snow. I ripped out his heart. He was my friend." His voice was incredibly soft. The mayor could barely hear him.

Snow looked down. "I'm sorry, Bigby. It wasn't your fault," she said.

"Where is his body?" he asked, ignoring what she'd just said. Snow didn't answer. "Don't tell me it's still in my apartment!" he snarled at her.

"No!" she said hurriedly. "We already burned it. The ceremony was two days ago. It was, um, a group funeral. We just had another one this morning."

The werewolf turned away and licked his lips. "Did anyone come?" he asked.

"That isn't important right now, Bigby," Snow said.

"Please."

The mayor closed her eyes and took a deep breath before answering. "No," she said. "Most of the Fables haven't left their apartments since Bloody Mary got loose."

Bigby nodded slowly. "I see," he said. A pause. "Is Bufkin OK?" he asked.

Snow's eyes brightened, like she was jumping at the chance to tell him some good news. "Bufkin is fine. So is Beauty and Beast, Woody, Holly, and Gren. I, uh…I don't know about Auntie Greenleaf. She hasn't been answering her phone. I sent Woody out to check on her."

Again, Bigby nodded. He leaned back into the couch. Everything ached. His chest was tight, and it felt like he might pass out any second. Snow was right; he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. The least he could do was get as informed as possible while he was like this. "Woody. What's his part in all of this?" he asked.

Snow sat down in a chair next to him. "After I drove you back here, I called Woody to make sure he was alright. I told him what happened, and he volunteered to help in whatever way he could. Since then, he's been checking on the other Fables, warning them about Mary. He's kind of been…well, he's been acting sheriff for the past few days," she finished awkwardly.

Bigby bristled. "Ah," he said. He raised an eyebrow at Snow. "Woody?"

The mayor nodded. "Yes. Woody. Anyway, it didn't take long for –"

"You chose Woody to replace me?" the werewolf interjected.

"He's not your replacement. But you were unconscious, and some things needed to be taken care of," Snow responded patiently. She continued, "It didn't take long –"

"Does he get to wear the badge?"

" _Shut up_ , Bigby," she snapped. The werewolf silenced himself and gestured for the mayor to continue. She sighed. "As I was saying, it didn't take long for Bluebeard to learn what was going on. He got it in his head that he could go out and take care of Bloody Mary himself." Snow scoffed and shook her head. "I don't know what he was trying to prove," she said, "but we found his body last night. He had lacerations on every visible part of him. He bled to death."

Bigby remained silent. As much as he had hated the smarmy bastard, the manner of his death didn't make him excessively happy. He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "I'm sorry, I guess," he muttered awkwardly.

"It's, um, it's fine. I mean,  _it's_ not fine, but I'm fine." Snow bit her lip and rubbed her arm, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Bigby felt. "Thank you," she said.

The werewolf nodded. After a few moments of silence, he spoke up. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

Snow breathed deeply. "To be honest, we don't have much of a plan right now. If Greenleaf is still alive, Woody's supposed to ask for her help, to see if she knows anything about how we might be able to kill Mary. Bufkin is somewhere in the shelves, researching. Other than that, basically it's just 'avoid getting killed,'" she said.

Bigby looked at her. "That's not enough. You have to know that," he said.

"Well, do you have any better ideas? Besides going out by yourself," Snow added, seeing the werewolf open his mouth to make a suggestion. "No," she said. "I'm not letting you kill yourself. Right now, the best thing you can do is get more rest. Build up your strength."

Bigby growled, "I'm tired of being useless. I need to help."

The mayor's face was stony. "Don't make me give you another sedative," she said in a warning tone.

The werewolf huffed and lied down on the couch lengthwise, crossing his arms angrily. After a moment, a though occurred to him. " _Another_  sedative?" he said questioningly.

Snow winced, realizing her mistake. "You got a little…fitful in your sleep. We had to sedate you a couple times."

Instead of upset, the former sheriff simply seemed confused. "Regular sedatives wouldn't normally work on me. I guess I must have been pretty out of it," he muttered.

"We didn't use regular sedatives," Snow admitted. "It was diluted wolfsbane extract."

"Oh." Bigby uncrossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably. He recalled their heated conversation in Snow's office, when he had tried to kill Bluebeard. He'd been so shocked to find out that she had kept the Crooked Man's bullets. "So, I guess you  _did_  also have wolfsbane," he said.

Snow gave him a sideways glance. "Really?" she asked. Bigby shrugged, and she scoffed, turning away from him. "I didn't have any wolfsbane, Bigby. We called Swineheart. He had a stash in his medical supplies."

"Oh," the werewolf said again. He felt a little better knowing that the toxic plant didn't belong to her.

"Yeah." Snow stood up and looked around before saying, "I think I'm going to check on Bufkin. You get some sleep." Then, she walked off.

Bigby closed his eyes and turned on his side. Though he didn't feel as physically ill as before, his head still pounded, and his heart still jolted painfully every few minutes. He was exhausted, but sleep evaded him for the longest time.

_Colin, stay with me, buddy._

_Whatever you do, don't fall asleep._

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

The werewolf jerked suddenly. His claws had come out and dug into the flesh of his forearms. Bigby tried to breathe deeply, but everything hurt too much to calm down. He gritted his teeth.  _Beating yourself up won't help you kill Mary_ , he thought.  _Rest. You need to rest._  After what felt like hours, the werewolf managed to fall into a deep, but fitful slumber.

He dreamt that he was walking through his apartment, half-morphed, with claws, fangs, and dark brown hair along his arms, chin, and eyebrows. He entered the small space and looked around the living room. Colin's corpse was rotting on the floor, but he ignored it. Corpses rot, it wasn't his problem. He walked into the bedroom to see Snow White sitting on his bed, a lilac-colored ribbon tied around her neck. She was facing away from him, staring at the wall on the other side of the room

"What are you doing here?" he asked her.

She turned around, revealing that her eyes had been gauged out their sockets. All that remained were deep, bloody pits. Still, the mayor smiled at him. "I was waiting for you, Bigby," she said calmly before tugging on the bow around her neck ever so slightly. The knot came undone, and her head toppled to the floor.

He woke up to the sound of talking. "Woody called. Greenleaf's dead," one said. Snow. "Damn it!" she continued. "She was our last hope."

Bigby didn't know how long he'd been asleep. Not too long, judging by how tired he still was. He remained still, pretending to sleep as Bufkin replied, "Not our last hope."

"What do you mean?" Snow asked quickly. "Did you find something?"

"I did, but you won't like it," the monkey answered. "I looked back at  _The Power of a Legend_ , the book that told me how Mary was able to survive. Apparently, after the Urban Legend is able to manifest into corporeal form, most of her ties with the host body are severed. All except one."

_No_ , Bigby thought, realizing what Bufkin was going to say.

"She still has a connection with Bigby's soul, one that cannot be cut. She depends on his life force to maintain her own. Once the energy stops flowing, Mary will revert back to her simplest form: just a pile of harmless glass," he said.

"Speak English, Bufkin! How do we stop the energy?" Snow asked angrily. Bigby knew she had already figured it out. Judging by her scent and tone of voice, she was just in denial.

Bufkin had reached the same conclusion, judging by how gently he said his next words. "If Bigby dies, so will Mary," he said.

" _What_?" Footsteps – Snow was pacing. "That's crazy. There's no way that's going to happen.

"It's the only solution I could find, Miss White," the monkey said.

"Then you haven't been looking hard enough!" the mayor snapped. Even in her hushed voice, Bigby could hear the rage in her words.

"I will keep looking, but we have to consider all the options," Bufkin tried to say, but Snow was hearing none of it.

"I don't need to consider this option, Bufkin. It's out of the question. Not. Happening."

"Miss Snow –"

"I suggest you get back to work, Bufkin. I don't want to hear any more on this subject," Snow said curtly. A few seconds passed when all was quiet. Then, Bigby heard the flap of wings. Bufkin took off.

The werewolf heard Snow walk over to him. He felt her standing over his body, watching him with a troubled expression. She reached down and rested a slim hand on his shoulder. Bigby remained still, not reacting to her touch.

Something wet fell on his cheek. He couldn't help but twitch when two more droplets landed on his chin. A sharp inhale, a few sniffs, and Bigby realized that Snow was crying. He couldn't move or speak as the Fable sank to her knees, her arms resting on Bigby's back, her face buried in the couch. He couldn't hold her close or whisper comforting words in her ear when he heard sobs wrack through her body.

He could only lie still and pretend to sleep.

  



	11. We Few, We Happy Few

He waited until Snow had fallen asleep.

Bigby sat up on the couch. His limbs were heavy, and he felt exhausted, but his chest didn't hurt as much as it had before. He could see alright, but the werewolf realized suddenly how desperately he needed a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in over four days, and his nose burned from all the smells that bombarded him.

Bigby checked his pocket and smiled. The pack that Snow had given him in her office was still there. That was unexpected.

As Bigby slowly got to his feet, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He staggered slightly, but quickly found his balance. He glanced over at Snow, who was sleeping in the armchair beside him. A blanket had been thrown over her shoulders, and her hair was down, tumbling down her neck in sleek, black locks. The ghost of a smile played at Bigby's lips.

Snow looked so peaceful when she was asleep. He could understand how Charming was able to fall in love with her like that. Though technically, Fables didn't age, the centuries did tend to wear at them. Sleep seemed to erase decades of stress and worry from Snow's features. She looked utterly…serene.

Mary would cut off that face and hang it on her wall if she got the chance, the werewolf realized, his smile fading suddenly. He scratched the back of his head.  _If I die, so will Mary_. Bigby took a deep breath. Unless Bufkin found something else, the solution seemed pretty clear to him.

Of course, Bigby knew that there probably wasn't any other way. It situations like this, there was rarely a choice. The former sheriff had lived long enough to know that much.

Standing up for so long had made the werewolf break out in a sweat. Even so, he refused to lie back down. He refused to be useless. Bigby reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack. After taking out a cigarette, he stuck it in between his teeth and lit it. He took a long drag, and the pain in his nose dulled a little.

He walked unsteadily away from the couch and further through the room. The Archives was enormous. It stretched along the entire area of the offices, a giant room filled with books, talismans, and other artifacts that had survived the conquest of the Adversary. The couch that Bigby had been sleeping on was positioned in a small circle of furniture near a fire place on the western side of the room.

The werewolf wandered toward the center of the room, pausing every few minutes to catch his breath. Finally, he got to the area where the mirror was stationed. Bigby looked around to make sure he was alone. He didn't know where Bufkin was, but the section appeared empty.

He turned back to the mirror and took a deep breath. He knew it didn't just show images. The mirror could answer questions as well. "Who is fairest?" and all that. Bigby wasn't sure if it could give him the answer he needed, but it was worth a shot. "Mirror, mirror…um, the question is grave. If I die, will Snow be saved?" he asked.

The face appeared like it always did, but instead of answering, it said, "I can show you the past and present, but I cannot tell you what might happen in the future. That knowledge is beyond me."

Bigby sighed. He'd known it was a lot to hope for, but still. "If you can't show me," he said, "can I just have your honest opinion?"

The mirror looked shocked. "My opinion?" it repeated.

"I just…I need to ask someone. Anyone." Bigby didn't realize how much he needed to hear it. Bufkin wasn't enough. Someone had to tell him that it was the only way.

The mirror paused for a moment to think. Finally, it said, "I am old, Bigby. Older than any Fable that you know. I existed long before Snow White's stepmother captured me. I have seen great things happen at the hands of your kind – noble acts as well as vile ones. I knew that the reign of Fables would not last forever. Now, there are so few of you left, and Bloody Mary could very well kill every last one of you if the mood suited her. Unless she is killed, these murders will not stop. The answer is yes, Bigby. Your sacrifice would save Snow's life." It hesitated before adding, "In my opinion."

The werewolf nodded thoughtfully. "Right," he said before clearing his throat. He was surprised at how small his voice sounded. "Thank you, Mirror," he finished, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

The face in the mirror nodded. "I wish you the best of luck, Bigby, on whatever path you choose." Then, in a rush of green smoke, the face disappeared.

Bigby stood there for a moment, smoking and thinking quietly to himself. So it was decided. That's the way it had to be. He dropped the cigarette and rubbed it into the ground with the sole of his shoe, his hands shoved into his pant pockets.

After a few minutes passed, Bigby sat down on the edge of a table. His heart rate had quickened considerably, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Whatever Mary had done to him four nights ago, it had definitely left its mark. The werewolf wiped some of the perspiration from his brow. The last time he'd felt this shitty, he'd been shot with a silver bullet.

Bigby took a deep breath and contemplated his next move. Throwing himself down the Witching Well would only break a few of his bones. It would take weeks for him to starve to death at the bottom of that well. His mind briefly traveled to Snow's silver bullets, but Bigby shook the idea from his head. He had no idea where they were, and even if he could ask Snow, she'd never tell him. The mayor had made her position quite clear to Bufkin last night.

The werewolf drew himself up, his decision made. With one last look at the mirror, Bigby turned away and left.

* * *

The mayor's sleep had been a blessing. She didn't remember the last time she managed to crank in more than two hours of sleep at a time. As her frosty blue eyes fluttered open, Snow sighed. She remembered what Bufkin had told her earlier that night. Suddenly, she didn't feel so well rested.

Snow sat up slowly, rubbing some of the sleep from her eyes. Her blanket fell down into her lap. She looked down at her clothing. Of course, she'd fallen asleep in her work clothes. She hadn't even thought of changing into pajamas. Too much had been going on.

"Bigby?" she asked in a tired voice. When he didn't answer, the mayor looked over at the couch next to her. "Bigby, I have to tell you –" She stopped mid-sentence.

The couch was empty, the blanket tossed to the side.

Bigby was gone.

" _Shit_!" Snow jumped to her feet, instantly awake. "Bigby!" she called frantically, pulling on her shoes and rushing away from the circle of furniture. " _Bigby_!" Nobody answered. Snow heard the flap of feathery wings sound from behind her. Then, Bufkin's voice.

"Miss White!" he said. "What happened?"

"Bigby's missing," Snow said. Her step didn't falter; she kept her brisk pace to the center of the Archives.

"What? When?" the monkey asked her, flapping quickly to keep up with her.

"I don't know," the mayor responded. "I just woke up, and he was gone." She saw the mirror ahead of her. It felt like there was a heavy rock being tossed around in her stomach. "Fuck," she said to herself, feeling tears sting at her eyes. "He just… _slipped_ away. He left, and I didn't…I couldn't…"

"Miss White, please calm down," Bufkin advised.

"I can't!" she hissed at him. "Bigby could be killing someone right now, and I just sat by and let him walk out of here!"

"You were asleep. You didn't know," the monkey told her.

"That's the point! What was I doing, sleeping? How could I even think about sleep after everything that's been going on? Don't I have half a brain?" Snow was standing in front of the mirror, pulling her hair back into a tight bun. "He could be under Mary's control, murdering someone this very second, and we wouldn't know. God, how could I be so stupid?" Snow said.

Bufkin landed on a table behind her. "But Bloody Mary has already taken full form. Her mental connection with Bigby was severed," he pointed out.

"We don't know that!" the mayor snapped at him. "If they share the same life force, then there has to be something else there. Some sort of influence. In his weakened state, Bigby's vulnerable. He's either killing some innocent Fable, or he's the Fable being killed."

"Miss White," the monkey said, his voice quiet, "if Bigby is dead –"

"Don't," Snow said in a warning tone. "Don't say it." Bufkin shut his mouth unhappily. Though he didn't say anything, she could still see the message clearly in his black eyes. If Bigby was dead, then they had succeeded. Mary would be no more.

But Snow couldn't think like that. She couldn't think of Bigby as just a means to an end. He was a person, and he could be saved. The mayor stared at her hands. So much blood had gotten on them since she became mayor. Bluebeard's, Greenleaf's, Spider's… She didn't want Bigby's on her hands as well, but if he was killing again, then there wasn't much she could do about that.

Snow cleared her throat. Now wasn't the time for doubt. She had to act. The mayor looked at the mirror. "Mirror, mirror, standing proud, where is Bigby Wolf right now?" she asked in a steady voice.

The surface of the mirror shimmered green before revealing the former sheriff staggering into a seemingly empty lot. Through the glass, Snow could see that his steps were heavy, uneven. He was exhausted. Her eyes widened when she realized where he was.

"What is it? Where is he?" Bufkin asked her eagerly.

Snow swallowed. "That's the gravesite," she murmured. "That's where Faith and Lily's memory stones are. And…Colin's."

The Fables had their own way of handling the dead. The body of the deceased was thrown down the Witching Well, and their possessions were given to a loved one. Then, they had memory stones placed in a public place, where anyone could visit and pay their respects. The stones were similar to headstones, except nothing was actually buried there. There was just a small space around the memory stone for offerings, letters, or parting gifts. That lot was where all the memory stones of Fables were placed.

"The gravesite?" The monkey looked confused. "Why would he go there without telling us?"

"I don't know," Snow admitted. "This doesn't make any sense." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking. "Whatever the case, I can't let him walk around out there on his own. He could or could not be under Mary's influence right now. Either way, he's in danger. I have to go after him."

"I suppose I can't go with you," Bufkin said, his voice dejected.

The mayor looked at him sympathetically. "I'm afraid not," she said. "Mary or no Mary, our laws still stand. You can't be seen on the streets."

The monkey looked at her. "You shouldn't go out there by yourself. You should call Woody," he said, but Snow was already shaking her head.

"No. I need him to keep an eye on the streets. I think I can manage on my own," she said, offering him a half smile. He still looked dubious.

"It's dangerous," Bufkin said.

It took all of the mayor's strength not to roll her eyes. "What's the safe thing to do, Bufkin?" she asked him. He didn't answer, and Snow nodded. "Right. I'll get Bigby. You stay here and keep an eye on him with the mirror. If anything happens, call me," she said, holding up her cell phone.

The monkey obviously wasn't pleased with the plan. All the same, he kept silent and nodded. "Be careful, Miss White."

"Like I have any other option," she replied. The mayor walked away from the mirror and left the Archives. Before leaving the building, however, she stopped by her office.

Snow opened the door slowly and walked over to her desk. She opened the drawer and stared down at the pistol resting at its center, loaded with silver bullets. After a pause, the mayor took the gun in her hand, closed the drawer, and exited the office.

* * *

Bigby walked through the lot, hands in his pockets. It was dark out, and the moon was just a faint sliver of silvery light in the starless sky. Shadows stretched along the ground. In the dark of the night, the werewolf's golden eyes glowed with an eerie light. He didn't have a watch on him, but if he had to guess, Bigby would have said it was around midnight.

He walked further into the lot and came across a line of polished rocks, each roughly the size of a head and placed gently on top of their own separate blankets. Engraved in the rocks were names. Bigby's eyes skimmed over the names of several Fables that had passed over the centuries. Then came the more recent ones: Faith, Lily, Georgie Porgie, and Vivian. As he'd expected, there were no stones for either of the Tweedles or the Crooked Man. There was nobody alive who cared enough to make them one.

Finally, the werewolf found the one he was looking for: Colin. His memory stone rested on top of a plaid picnic blanket. A few things had already been set on top of the blanket – a neatly folded letter, a few flowers, and a photo of Colin smiling with his two brothers. Bigby felt something wet slide down his cheek. He didn't bother wiping it away. He knelt down in front of the stone, grunting quietly when his stomach throbbed in protest. When he was in a somewhat comfortable position, the werewolf spoke.

"Hey, Colin," he said to the rock. He waited for a moment, as if expecting the stone to answer. Of course, it didn't. So, Bigby cleared his throat and continued. "I just wanted to tell you that…well, I don't really know. You were the most obnoxious pain in the ass that could have ever lived with me, but I miss you. I know that wherever you are, you probably hate my guts right now. I can understand that."

The werewolf swallowed. It felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. "I am sorry about what happened. What I did. I promise that I'm going to try to make it up to you. I know that I can't. I mean, you're dead for Christ's sake." Bigby paused awkwardly. He'd never really done anything like this before. Talking to dead people was an alien concept to him. Was he even doing it right? Should he leave?

No. He came here for a reason, and he was going to stick to it. "I'm going to do something that will save a lot of people. Maybe when all this is over, you'll get the chance to beat my ass up in the afterlife. I know I deserve a lot worse."

The werewolf dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Huff n' Puffs. After looking at the label for a moment, he set it down on the blanket, right next to the picture of Colin's brothers. "Until then, here you go. I know you think it's a shitty brand, but it's all I've got right now," he said.

Finally, Bigby stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets once more. "Goodbye, Colin. I'll see you soon enough," he finished.

Having said his piece, the former sheriff turned around and left the lot. He didn't look back.

 


	12. The Heat of the Moment

Bigby entered Sheppard Metalworks, sliding the second door closed behind him. He really had no idea if Mary was in there, but it was the only place that came to mind.

He tried to keep his limbs from trembling under his exhaustion, and he felt as if he might throw up at any moment. It was a good thing he didn't intend to win this fight. After taking a shuddering breath, the werewolf managed to morph ever so slightly. As his fangs, claws, and hair grew out, he felt some of his strength returning.

Slowly, his head stopped swimming and his vision sharpened considerably. Bigby looked down at his hands. He was far from his full strength, but he was ready for a fight. The werewolf walked further into the factory and looked around. "Alright, bitch," he said in a low voice. "I'm right here. I'm through waiting. Let's finish this."

Nobody answered at first. Then, a voice spoke, originating from one of the beams that crisscrossed near the ceiling. "I wasn't too happy to come back here and find all my mirrors smashed," it said in a lazy voice.

Bigby looked up to see Bloody Mary leaning across one of the beams, leisurely picking her nails with a piece of glass. Her blood red eyes flicked to the werewolf, and she smirked. "You really let this place go to shit. I'm kinda disappointed in you, Wolfy." With a sigh, the Fable climbed to her feet and placed her hands on her hips, balancing perfectly on top of the narrow beam. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

The werewolf growled, "I'm tired of hiding. It's time we settle this once and for all."

"Why? So I can kill you?"

Bigby froze, and Mary grinned. "I know how this game goes, Wolfy. You think this is my first time playing?" She dropped the glass shard and jumped down from her beam. A few seconds passed when she was falling. Then, she landed on a platform about 30 meters from the one Bigby was standing on. "I kill you, I die. I'm not stupid. I do my homework before coming back from the dead." The Fable chuckled to herself. "It's a noble act, coming here by yourself, but you really should've rethought your strategy. I'm not falling for this," she said.

The entire time, Bigby had remained silent, staring at Mary in disbelief. That wasn't it. That _couldn't_ be it. He had come to the factory prepared to die. And what does she tell him? _I'm not interested_?

Not a chance.

The werewolf leapt into action, flying off of his platform and pulling himself up onto the nearest beam. He jumped from beam to beam, making his way across the factory until he was directly over Mary's head. Then, he dropped.

The Fable's smirk turned into a scowl as she jumped out of the way. "Are you brainless, Dog-boy? I'm not going to kill you!" she shouted at the werewolf as he landed on the platform, sinking into a crouch.

Bigby didn't respond, but launched himself at the other Fable, claws outstretched. She ducked away from his slash and spun around so that she was behind him. "I don't think you understand what I'm saying: You lost. I won. Just run back to your pretty girlfriend and accept it!" Mary sneered as she evaded Bigby's next few attacks.

He threw a punch at her temple, but Mary blocked it with her forearm. "You're pathetic," the werewolf snarled at her in that split second of contact.

She pulled away and rolled backward when Bigby sent a kick flying at her face. "Excuse me?" she said in a dangerous tone.

"Look at you! Hanging onto life by a thread, getting your kicks from a few easy kills," Bigby jeered. He feinted to the left, but pulled his right fist into a sharp uppercut, catching Mary under the chin. She stumbled backward, momentarily dazed. It didn't last long, though, and she regained her senses just in time to jump to her left in order to avoid the werewolf's ball kick.

All the while, he continued to goad her. "You're happy enough to spill some blood when it comes to those clueless Fables, but when a real challenge comes knocking on your door, you're suddenly too coward to even put up a fight!" the werewolf snarled at her.

When he swung another fist at her, she caught it and glared into Bigby's eyes. With a grunt of effort, she shoved him backwards. "You know what? You're right," she said.

The werewolf managed to twist away from Mary's fist. "I haven't had a real fight in days. I may not be able to kill you, but I'd be happy to beat the living shit out of you," she hissed. She launched herself at Bigby, but he fell back and ducked out of the way. Mary's momentum carried her over the railing and down towards the floor of the factory.

Bigby rushed forward and peered over the railing, searching for her body, but there was no sign of the Fable anywhere.

He turned around just in time for Bloody Mary's boot to connect with his nose.

The werewolf toppled over the edge of the railing, landing with an _oomph_ on the hard, metal floor. He stayed on the ground for a second, trying to collect his wits. He then looked up to see a large, gleaming mirror in front of him. _Shit_ , he thought.

In the reflection, Bigby saw Mary start running towards him, carrying something in her hands. He barely had time to realize what it was before the Fable jumped out of the mirror, the woodsman's axe swinging towards his face.

Out of sheer dumb luck, the werewolf rolled out to his left in order to avoid being chopped in two. Mary landed on her feet in front of the looking glass, a mad smile plastered on her face. "I've been redecorating," she said, gesturing to the mirror. "Do you like it?"

* * *

Bufkin sat on the table next to the mirror, scratching at his stitches. _They're dead_ , he thought to himself. _They're out there on their own, and now they're dead_.

None of this would have happened if someone had just listened to him! All Snow and Bigby asked him to do was research, but when he finally came up with answers, they were too stubborn to accept them.

Soon enough, all that would be left of them were names engraved on polished rocks. The monkey sighed to himself. It took all of his strength not to fly out of that building and go look for Bigby himself. He hadn't left the Archives in over a century.

It was just like Bigby had told Snow the night before. _I'm tired of being useless_.

Bufkin sighed. It was a stupid idea, and one that he would never go through with, but it was nice to imagine sometimes. It was nice to think that the flying green monkey would someday swoop in heroically and save the day.

But he couldn't leave the building. Not without being found out and sent to the Farm. Those were the rules.

The monkey looked gloomily over at the magic mirror. It had been a while since he last checked on Bigby. He should constantly be keeping tabs on him.

Bufkin paused for a moment, thinking of a suitable rhyme before saying, "Mirror, mirror, in this station, show me Bigby Wolf's location." As the green smoke shifted under the surface of the mirror, he smiled to himself. He always felt a small sense of accomplishment whenever he managed to come up with a rhyme.

When the smoke cleared, Bufkin's jaw dropped.

Bigby was inside Sheppard Metalworks, half-morphed and dancing around for seemingly no reason. As the monkey looked at the image more closely, he noticed a lightning-fast blur that swung towards the werewolf every few seconds. It was Bloody Mary, swinging the woodsman's axe so quickly that it was barely visible to the naked eye.

Bufkin jumped up and down on the table, flapping his wings frantically as he hurried over to the phone. He had to tell Snow immediately! He had to –

Wait.

Bufkin's eyes traveled slowly from the telephone back to the mirror. Bigby was moving swiftly, evading the axe's swipes with relative ease, but he knew that in the werewolf's weakened state, it wouldn't be long before he slipped up. The monkey remained frozen, but his mind was a hurricane.

This could be it. He could end it all, right then and there. If he waited a few minutes to call Snow, then Bigby might be dead, and all of Fabletown could be saved.

He could do it. It would be so easy to just sit there and wait for the werewolf to make a wrong move. It would look like an accident. How could the tiny green monkey be at fault? He had called Snow, just like he said he would.

Bufkin bit his lip and looked at the reflection. Bigby was fighting strictly on the defensive now, dodging like a madman every time Mary swung towards him.

The werewolf had been nothing but kind to him. He'd been a good friend. He would understand if Bufkin chose to let him die. That was the entire reason why he had gone to the factory, wasn't it? Bigby must have known that his death would save Fabletown. He wouldn't have left if he wanted to live.

But looking at Bigby then, the monkey felt a pang go through his chest. Could he really sacrifice a friend like that? Could he really just sit by and watch him get sliced in two?

The answer came to him almost immediately, and Bufkin cursed under his breath. _Those morons don't realize how good of a friend I am_ , he thought bitterly, reaching for the phone.

* * *

Snow rushed into the empty lot, gun in hand and breathing heavily. "Bigby!" she called. Of course, there was no answer. She hadn't really been expecting one.

The mayor looked around, but it wasn't much use. She could barely see a thing. She walked carefully across the lot, keeping as quiet as she possible could. Her heart was pumping so loud, she was sure that any living thing on the block could hear it.

Snow found her way to the edge of the lot, where all of the Fables' memory stones were resting. She glanced behind her quickly, but saw nothing. With the gun still raised carefully, she knelt down by the memory stones.

She wasn't really sure what she was looking for. Clues, perhaps, though the mayor had never been especially apt at detective work. That had always been Bigby's field. She sighed. Giving the place a quick once-over couldn't hurt. After all, she still didn't know if the former sheriff was in the lot or not.

Her eyes skimmed the offering around the stones, but then rested on one. Was that…?

Snow knelt down next to Colin's blanket and took one of the offerings in hand: a half-used pack of Huff n' Puffs. _This is Bigby's_ , she realized. Snow felt tears sting at her eyes. Why hadn't she considered that the werewolf simply wanted to pay his respects in private? Was it truly that hard to believe?

With a deep breath, the mayor climbed to her feet, lowering the gun and clicking the safety back into place. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe Bigby was on his way back to the Archives right then, hoping he could get back to sleep before she or Bufkin realized he had left.

A loud chime originating from her pocket made her jump. Snow stood, bewildered for a moment before realizing it was just her phone. _Thank God no one was here to see that_ , she thought in embarrassment as she pulled out the clunky cell phone.

She pressed a button. "Hello?" she said.

Bufkin's frantic voice answered, "Miss White! Bigby isn't at the lot anymore."

Snow looked around as she said, "I know. I'm there right now. It's completely empty." She paused. "So did he come back?" she asked.

"Miss White, Bigby went to the factory. He's there right now, with Bloody Mary."

Snow's eyes widened in alarm. "What?" she asked, barely comprehending what Bufkin was telling her.

"He's at Sheppard Metalworks, and he is fighting Mary right now."

Snow was already running towards her car.

* * *

Bigby cartwheeled to the side as the axe split the air where he'd just been standing. "Why are you running?" Mary asked, grinning wickedly. "I thought you wanted to die!" She swung the axe at him once more, and he dropped to the floor, watching its sharp edge whistle through the space above his head. He tucked and rolled to the left just as Mary brought the weapon down. "Come one, Wolfy!" she laughed. "At least make this a challenge!"

He'd already tried to shift into wolfman form, but he soon realized that he wasn't strong enough, _healed_ enough for that. At that moment, big hairy human was all he could manage.

Bigby danced out of the way, and Bloody Mary leapt into the air and kicked him straight in the jaw. He tumbled onto his back. When his head hit the floor, he gritted his teeth at the impact.

Mary was standing over him, holding the axe and smiling madly. "You're probably hoping I'll kill you now," she said in a quiet voice. "But I'm sticking to what I said. I won't kill you, Bigby. I'm not stupid or suicidal." She bent down and grabbed the werewolf by the collar, pulling him up so that she was staring into his eyes. "I just want to have a little fun," she whispered in his ear.

Faster than blinking, Bigby kicked the Fable in the stomach. With a surprised grunt, she released her hold on his shirt, and the werewolf jumped backward. "Well, I'd hate to be the party pooper," he growled. "But I'm not done yet."

With an enraged roar, Mary straightened her back and lunged at the werewolf. He dodged and delivered a spinning kick to her throat. She barely ducked out of the way in time. _What am I doing_? the werewolf thought suddenly. _Wasn't this supposed to be a suicide mission_?

But he couldn't give up just yet. He had to get his payback first. He grabbed the axe and wrestled to get it out of Mary's hands. She twisted and jerked, but Bigby maintained his iron grip on the handle. He pushed her backward, shoving her against one of the metal structures. "I don't think I'm ready to die just yet," he snarled. "Right now, I just want to see you get what you deserve."

A disturbance behind him made the werewolf look over. The door to the factory was opening slowly. _What the hell…_?

Bloody Mary took this moment of confusion to wrench the axe out of Bigby's hands and whip him across the face with the butt of the handle. He stumbled backward, his mind reeling when her heard the sharp _clack_ of high heels on metal floors. _Oh, no_ , he thought. As Bigby struggled to collect his thoughts, Mary turned her attention to the Fable rushing into the building.

"Well, well, well," she snickered. "What do we have here?"

Snow stopped in her tracks and glared at Mary. Without saying a word, her eyes flicked over to the werewolf struggling to pick himself up off the floor. "Bigby, we have to go!" she yelled, but the former sheriff was dazed. He could barely register what Snow was saying.

Mary walked away from the werewolf, twirling the axe playfully. "Well would you look at that?" she said. "I would have thought that you'd be all for Wolfy getting himself killed. It would save Fabletown, wouldn't it?"

Snow backed away. "Bigby, come one. Let's get out of here!" she tried again, ignoring Mary's words. This time, the werewolf managed to stand up and started sprinting towards the mayor, but Mary's sharp kick to his abdomen put him on his knees once more.

"I guess you can't think straight when it comes to your boyfriend," Mary chuckled, turning her attention back to Snow. She looked back down at the dazed werewolf. "Oh, well. Your loss," she said.

Bigby realized what was happening a split second later. "Snow, run!' he screamed too late. Mary threw the axe. It spun in the air as it traveled in Snow's direction.

The mayor turned around to bolt for the door, but was far too slow. The axe met its mark and buried itself into her back.


	13. A Shot in the Dark

" _SNOW_!"

Bigby's cry split the air as the mayor arched her back, a silent scream breaking through her lips. She fell forward, the pistol falling from her hands as she landed hard on the ground.

The werewolf scrambled to his feet and made a move to run towards Snow, but Mary knocked him down once more with a vicious uppercut. He was on his hands and knees, breathing raggedly and trying to hold his tears at bay.

Mary circled around him, one hand on her hip. She smirked and said, " _Really_ should've thought better than to invite your girlfriend over. You had to have known it would be too dangerous. Unless…" The Fable glanced over at Snow's limp body, at the blood that ran steadily from the wound on her shoulder blade to the floor. "Unless poor Snow thought she'd come by to rescue you. Now that is precious," she finished with a chuckle. "But now that she's out of the way, it's just you and –"

The Fable didn't get to finish her sentence. A massive clawed hand caught her across the stomach, sending her flying backwards.

The wolfman stood up, a solid 7 feet of muscle and grey fur. His golden eyes were like living flames, blazing with wild fury. He opened his maw and let loose a roar that shook the building.

Mary climbed to her feet with difficulty, wincing as blood poured out of the four long clawmarks that ran across her belly. She glanced at the wolfman for a moment, then jumped upward onto a nearby platform, scrambling to get away.

Bigby's eyes followed her as she attempted to run from him. He narrowed his eyes and gave a deep, rumbling growl before jumping onto the platform after her. He lumbered across the metal grating. It groaned under his weight.

The wolfman raised his head and sniffed. The smell of rotten blood crawled into his nostrils. He growled. It seemed as if the smell was coming from everywhere. She was moving so quickly, he couldn't pin down where she was at any given moment.

The clatter of metal sounded to his right. Bigby snarled. _Finally_. He leapt between beams and platforms, charging in the direction of the noise. He saw a human-shaped form moving in between the beams. _There she is_! The wolfman jumped upward once more, one arm outstretched.

A sudden flash of gleaming metal, and Bigby felt something cold rake across his side, splitting his leathery skin like a hot knife through butter. He hissed. Silver.

He tried to leap after her, but the wound immediately started to burn. The wolfman grimaced and fell from his beam, landing on a platform about 10 feet below. "Agh!" he groaned, clutching at his injury as the flesh around it continued to sizzle. He heard the sing of metal splitting the air before the knife slashed into him again, this time along his collarbone. " _Fuck_!"

Bigby forced himself onto his feet and roared, scanning his surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of red hair shifting on a beam overhead. With a snarl, the wolfman tore at a column with his claws until it was sheared clean in two. The beam it was supporting toppled over, Mary falling down with it. She managed to jump off the beam at the last second, landing gracefully on her feet on the same platform as Bigby. In her hands, she held a slim silver knife.

The Fable tried to grin at him, but the pain showed clear on her face. Bigby took notice of the way she gingerly held the ragged clawmarks on her belly with her free hand. "You know, next time you try to clean out the Crooked Man's hideout," she panted, waving the knife in a playful manner, "try to make sure none of his silver toys stay behind." With that, Mary jumped towards the wolfman attempting to fly over his head.

But Bigby saw the move coming. He reached up and knocked her out of the air, bringing his hand down and pinning her to the netted metal ground. He growled and raised his other arm, preparing to slice open her throat, but Mary sliced at him with her silver knife, creating a long, burning cut along the arm that was pinning her down.

The wolfman yowled, and he loosened his grip on the other Fable, giving her enough room to slash him across the chest and kick him in the gut. The force of the kick sent Bigby stumbling over the railing. He fell straight to the main floor of the factory, landing on his back.

Mary jumped down after him. She landed a little less gracefully than she intended, grunting and holding her injury with care, trying to staunch the flow of blood. She managed to pull herself together and stalk over to the wolfman. He was still on the floor, eyes firmly shut as he tried to block out the agony that cut through his side, chest, and collar.

" _I'm_ pathetic?" she sneered at him. "Take a good long look at yourself, Bigby! You used to be so great. Now, you're just a dog that needs to be put down." She raised the bloodied knife over her head. "If you think this is the end, and that you'll be with that pretty little whore of yours, think again. I'm going to keep you alive for a long time." She brought the knife down.

Bigby's eyes snapped open at the last second, and he exhaled sharply, blowing hard enough to knock the other Fable off her feet. He climbed to his feet, but immediately fell back down on his hands and knees. "You'll die long before I do," he snarled in a low voice. He felt his bones shifting, growing and rearranging inside his body. His hands formed into paws, and a snout grew from his face.

Mary got into a sitting position and looked up. Her jaw dropped. Before her stood a 10-foot-tall wolf, covered in coarse grey fur with burning orange eyes. He lunged toward her, jaws open and prepared to shred into blood and bone.

But the other Fable spun out of the way, knife flashing and slicing into his snout. Bigby snarled as a wave of nausea flooded over him. He staggered, but quickly regained his footing. He looked down, but Mary had disappeared. He looked around furiously. Suddenly, he felt she sharp sting of silver dig into the back of his neck.

The wolf whirled around. Mary was leaping off of his back, trying to escape. He snapped at her, his jaws closing around her torso. At the last moment, she threw the silver blade onto a nearby platform. As the wolf's mouth began to close, her body shattered into a million pieces. Bigby spat out the glass chunks. _A copy_?

He looked up. Another Mary had landed on the platform and scooped up the knife. She jumped down, and the wolf raised his head to catch her. She was expecting his move, though, and spun in the air, away from his jaws and landing on his back. Bigby twisted around, trying to clamp his teeth around her, but the Fable maneuvered herself around so that she was positioned on his left hip. She dug the dagger into his leg and jumped off, keeping the knife buried in his flesh so that it dragged down, creating a deep and painful gash down his entire leg.

The wolf felt his leg give out, and his fell so that the injured limb was pinned beneath the rest of his body. He howled in pain. It felt as if the entire left half of his body was on fire. Bigby struggled to stay on his feet, but it was too much. He collapsed onto his side. He trembled on the ground, unable to move.

Bloody Mary appeared out of the shadows, flanked by two more of her copies. She smirked. "Almost, Wolfy," she said, "but not quite." She gestured with the hand that was not covering her stomach wound, and another copy came forward and handed her the silver dagger. The Fable walked closer to the wolf and knelt down, grunting painfully. She lifted the dagger so that he could see it. "In case you were wondering, this is going to hurt _a lot_." She raised the blade, preparing to bring it down.

A sudden shot rang through the factory.

Bloody Mary glanced down at her chest and reached a hand up to her heart. She looked confused. The three copies surrounding her seemed to fade away into thin air. The Fable coughed, and blood came up. "Silver?" she gurgled before toppling over, revealing a bloody hole in her back.

Immediately, her skin started to harden and shine. Within seconds, her entire body appeared to made from glass. The statue trembled slightly before shattering, reducing itself to a pile of broken shards.

Bigby glanced up to see Snow White about ten yards away. She was standing on shaking legs. Her left arm hung limply from her side while her right held a smoking pistol. She met Bigby's gaze and gave a small smile before falling onto her knees with a gasp of pain.

"Snow!" The wolf felt himself shrinking down to human size, and he scrambled toward the mayor. He winced sharply as his left leg dragged along the hard floor.

He closed the distance between the two Fables and placed a hand gingerly on her shoulder. "Are you OK?" he asked frantically.

Snow looked at the werewolf irritably. "I'm pretty far from OK, Bigby. I just had to dig an axe out of my back," she groaned.

"I thought you were dead," he murmured.

Snow managed a smile before she grunted painfully and grasped her left shoulder. He looked at the sleeve of her left arm. Most of the white blazer was drenched in blood. Her skin was ghostly pale, and he noticed that she was shivering.

"We have to stop the blood," Bigby said urgently. He tried to shift his weight to get in a sitting position, but cried out. He looked down at his leg. The skin around the knife wound was red and inflamed. He could see blue and purple veins etched into the ragged flesh. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling from the ragged skin and pooling beneath his naked body.

Bigby's head swam. "I…" he managed to mutter before crumpling to the ground.

"Bigby!" Snow's voice seemed far away.

The werewolf gulped and looked up at her. Her face looked fuzzy, and he groaned. The entire world seemed to spin before dissolving into darkness.

* * *

Woody opened the door the factory and walked through it, hatchet in hand. It wasn't as efficient in a fight as his axe, but it would do. He crouched low to the ground, trying to be silent as he walked across the floor.

He'd gotten back to the Archives to find Bufkin pacing the table next to the mirror anxiously. "What happened?" he'd asked. "Where's Snow and Bigby?"

The monkey had jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Woody!" he'd said. "They…Mr. Wolf left. He went to fight Bloody Mary and…" The monkey had then continued pacing and muttering to himself nervously.

"Bufkin, what happened?" the woodsman had asked.

Bufkin had then looked back at the mirror. "I just saw…on the mirror…" He gulped. "They need your help. Right now. Miss White is…she has your axe…"

Woody had then rummaged through the Archives for a few minutes, looking for a suitable weapon before settling on a hatchet about the size of his forearm. It had a leather grip and a slender, sharp blade, similar to a felling axe. With the right amount of force, it would split a mundy's head in half. Though it wouldn't have the same effect on a Fable, let alone Bloody Mary, he was certain it could do a fair amount of damage.

Cut to the woodsman after taking a cab as close as he dared to the factory, then walking the rest of the way. He gripped his hatchet and looked around cautiously. It was so quiet. Wasn't there supposed to be a fight going on?

His foot bumped into something hard, and he glanced down. _My axe_! he thought happily, reaching down.

Woody lifted the axe off of the ground and examined it carefully. The blade was splattered with blood. He looked around once more, gripping both weapons in his hands. Where was everybody?

The axe had been lying in a puddle of crimson blood, and a trail led away from it, going deeper into the factory. The woodsman started forward, following the trail to a different section of the building.

Soon enough, he reached a small area, and his eyes widened. "What the fuck…" he muttered before rushing forward. Bigby and Snow were lying in a large, dark pool of blood. "Jesus fucking Christ," the woodsman said, kneeling in front of the Fables. A few meters away, he saw a pile of shattered glass, but he paid it little attention.

Both Bigby and Snow were unconscious, but Woody could see their chests moving ever so slightly. He gave a sigh of relief. They were still alive. _They must've passed out from blood loss_ , he realized. The woodsman turned his attention specifically to Snow. There was a long shred in the fabric of her blazer, running along the upper edge of her shoulder blade. He looked down at his axe and frowned. _So that's what Bufkin meant when he said that Snow had my axe_.

He then looked over at the werewolf. A long, jagged cut ran down the length of his leg. Snow's wound was already closed for the most part, But Bigby's still bled profusely. _If he keeps bleeding like this, he'll be dead within the hour_ , Woody realized. He looked down at Snow's blazer. It was soaked with blood, but it would still work. He started to slip it from her shoulders, giving a quiet sigh of relief at the fact that she wore her blue button-up underneath.

He moved over to Bigby and made a face. The way he was sitting before, he hadn't realized that the werewolf was naked. Still, he hesitated for only a second, and then proceeded to press the stained blazer against the gaping wound on his leg.

Woody noticed a small lump in the pocket of Snow's blazer. He reached into the pocket and pulled out her cell phone. "Thank God," he muttered, flipping it open and dialing Swineheart's number.

About 15 minutes later, the woodsman was standing next to the pair of Fables, holding the axe and hatchet in case any trouble came. He'd already taken a look at the pile of glass. He hadn't been sure it was Bloody Mary until he came across a chunk that looked suspiciously like a nose. After that, he'd been able to relax some.

The wound on Bigby's leg had finally stopped bleeding, and so Woody had then draped the bloody blazer across the werewolf's waist. Seeing his junk hanging out for so long had started to make the woodsman uncomfortable.

Suddenly, he heard the werewolf stir. Woody looked over at him in time to see his eyes flutter open. He groaned, then was still for a good few seconds. The woodsman didn't breathe, praying that the werewolf didn't know he was there. He could hear him sniffing. Then, Bigby's groggy voice saying, "Woody?"

He sighed. There went his prayers. He walked over to Bigby and knelt down next to him. "How did you know I was there?" he asked.

The werewolf's amber eyes flicked over to him, and he squinted, like he wasn't entirely registering what was going on. "I could…smell you…" he mumbled. Woody nodded before Bigby's eyes widened in alarm. "Is Snow OK? Is she alive?" he asked urgently.

"Hey, hey, calm down," the woodsman replied. "Snow's fine. Swineheart should be here any minute now."

Bigby relaxed his muscles. His eyes were far away, and his breathing was ragged. "Am I dead?" he asked quietly.

"No! No, you're not dead. Um…" Woody trailed off quietly. He'd never been in that kind of situation before. What was he supposed to say? "You're just dreaming. You're fine," he said after a brief hesitation. "Just go to sleep."

Bigby looked at the woodsman in confusion, and he was pretty sure that the werewolf didn't understand about 90% of what he was saying. "Go to sleep, Bigby. When you wake up, everything will be fine," he said again. He still looked puzzled, and Woody was pretty sure that he'd have to repeat himself again, but then the werewolf's eyelids drooped.

"Thanks, Woody," he mumbled before closing his eyes. Soon enough, he was fast asleep.


	14. In the End

The taxi drove down Bullfinch Street in the late afternoon. It passed by buildings and pedestrians at a seemingly lethargic pace. Normally, Bigby would have just walked to the Fabletown offices, but he had decided to listen to Swineheart's advice and give his leg a rest.

It had been two days since the fight at Sheppard Metalworks, and though his injury wasn't healing as quickly as he'd hoped, Swineheart had assured the werewolf that there wouldn't be any lasting damage. Still, until he made a full recovery, Bigby would have to keep off his legs as much as possible.

The former sheriff had never listened to the doctor's advice before, but this time, taking it easy was probably for the best. Fighting Bloody Mary had taken a lot out of him, and he wasn't very keen on falling into another coma.

Bigby rubbed his leg thoughtfully. Looking at the wound then, it would appear to be a long, jagged line of knotted muscles and swollen skin that ran from the center of his hamstring to the tip of his calf muscle. Sometimes it burned like hell, other times it barely even throbbed. It just depended on how much he used it.

The werewolf peered out the car window and looked at the Fables walking down the street. On the surface, everything looked normal. Just your average people in an average neighborhood in New York. But Bigby could see that the recent murders had taken their toll. The Fables walked with a certain kind of somberness and gloom, subtly enough that only the werewolf's trained eyes could see it.

Bigby looked down into his lap. His eyes were still amber and angry, brighter since the fight with Mary. He frowned, wondering what would have happened had Snow not shot the Fable when she did. He shuddered at the thought.

Snow… He hadn't seen her since that night. Well, he'd _seen_ her, but hadn't gotten the chance to talk to her. A few hours after passing out in a pool of his own blood, Bigby had woken up to find bandages wrapped around his leg, chest, side, and arm – everywhere he'd been cut with the silver knife. A pair of loose-fitting jeans had been pulled up around his waist, and a grey T-shirt was thrown on top of his torso like a makeshift blanket.

He was still in the factory, but the blood and glass had been cleaned up. Swineheart had been bent over the unconscious Snow White, sewing up an ugly gash in her shoulder with Woody sitting down on some nearby crates, holding his axe nervously.

Once they'd realized that the werewolf was awake, they had hurriedly explained that they needed "space" in order for the doctor to work on Snow. A load of bullshit, if you asked him. All the same, he had agreed to let Woody drive him back to his apartment.

"Hey, are you gonna pay or what?" the taxi driver said irritably, pulling Bigby from his thoughts. The werewolf looked over at the driver, handed him some cash, and struggled to get out of the car without putting too much weight on his leg. Then, he started into the building, trying to hide his limp.

He made his way up the stairs, towards Snow's office. There was, of course, a long line of Fables waiting by the door, but they all knew better than to complain as the werewolf walked passed them. Even Gren, who was standing towards the front of the line, kept his mouth shut.

Bigby hesitated before entering the office, hobbling slightly as a spasm of pain shot through his leg in response to the action. He closed the door behind him.

Snow White sat at her desk, with the woodsman sitting in the chair opposite to her. At the sound of the door closing, they both looked up. "Bigby," the mayor said awkwardly.

"Snow," he responded with equal discomfort. His eyes flicked over to the other Fable. "Um…Woody."

"Uh, hey Bigby," the woodsman said.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed by when nobody spoke. Then, Bigby scratched the back of his head. "Can I have a second?" he asked quietly, looking over at the mayor.

Snow jumped slightly. "Oh! Erm…yes, that's fine." She glanced at Woody and stood up. The werewolf noticed how her left arm was in a sling. "Thanks for stopping by, Woody. It's been a good talk," she said with a smile. She reached out her right hand, and the woodsman shook it.

"No problem," he replied before leaving the office. Bigby noticed a tiny smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. As Woody closed the door of the office, Bigby turned his attention back to the mayor. Although he had half-suspected to find her at the offices, the werewolf was still a little surprised to see Snow working so soon after Bloody Mary.

"You're working today," he said dumbly.

Snow nodded, and walked around her desk, her fingers trailing across its wooden surface. "I am," she said.

"So soon?" Bigby asked.

The mayor sighed. "Unfortunately, the world doesn't stand still every time a crisis happens. And after all this trouble with Mary, Fabletown needs me more than ever. People are still trying to get over all of the…deaths," she finished, her voice diminishing in volume until the last word was barely a whisper.

Bigby nodded in understanding and took the seat in front of her desk. "I dropped by your apartment, but you weren't there, so, um…" he trailed off, biting his lip, trying to find the right words. Finally, he settled on, "Are you alright?"

Snow glanced up at him, her frosty blue eyes meeting his gleaming amber. "I'm fine," she said softly.

"Really?"

Again, she sighed. "Swineheart said I was lucky that the axe didn't chop through my spinal cord," she elaborated. "It cut just across my shoulder blade, severing a few nerves. So, um, paralyzed arm," she finished, gesturing to the sling. "For now, at least."

Bigby gave her a half smile. "Perks of being a popular Fable, I guess," he said.

The mayor made a sound halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "Yeah. I guess." Her eyes traveled to his injured leg, taking note on how it trembled slightly. "You shouldn't be walking around. That leg's going to take a while to heal," she advised, but the werewolf only shrugged.

"I've been through worse. And I'm _not_ going to let anyone put me in a wheelchair," he said with a smirk. This at least earned him a smile.

Another agonizing minute of silence. "So what were you talking about with Woody?" Bigby asked in a conversational tone. Snow threw him a suspicious look, but he just held up his arms in a helpless gesture. "I'm just curious."

Snow blinked at him. "If you must know," she said, "I was relieving him of his duties as sheriff."

The werewolf looked shocked. "Why would you do that? I thought he was doing pretty well with the job. You know, considering," he said.

The mayor ran a hand through her hair, looking slightly embarrassed. "He was. Given the circumstances, Woody was a great sheriff, but…" She took a deep breath, and Bigby raised an eyebrow. "It was a mistake, firing you," she said finally. "I don't think anyone could be a better sheriff than you, and I was wondering… Well, I was wondering if you'd be interested in returning to the offices." Once she was done speaking, Snow cleared her throat awkwardly and glanced down at her desk.

Bigby was silent. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So is this an apology?" he asked. Snow was about to get angry before she saw a grin creep onto his features. Then, she smiled back. "I guess…Fabletown needs the both of us," the sheriff said.

Snow beamed. She grabbed something off of her desk and held it out to him. Bigby hadn't noticed the badge sitting there. It was old – a tarnished brass pin in the shape of a 12-pointed star, about 2 inches in diameter. He had never actually worn it, just carried it around in his pocket. The werewolf made a move to get up, but winced sharply and settled back down in the chair. "Um, could you…"

A look of understanding passed over the mayor's face. "Right, sorry," she said as she took a few steps forward to place the badge gently in his hand. Bigby nodded his thanks and rubbed the engraving softly with his thumb. It was so worn down that he couldn't read the letters anymore, but he knew what they said. _Fabletown Sheriff_.

"Thank you, Snow," he murmured, sticking the badge in his pocket.

She glanced down at her shoes. "I guess I should the one thanking you," she said, "for what you did at the factory."

The werewolf looked at her incredulously. "You took an axe to the back," he pointed out.

"I know, but –"

"You shot Mary when I was lying on the floor, helpless. You killed her," Bigby said. "You're the hero here, Snow. You saved my life."

"Can you please just shut up for a second?" she snapped, frustrated. Her eyes were screwed shut and her hand was clenched at her side, either from irritation or discomfort. When the werewolf stopped talking, she spoke. "I know why you went to the factory that night. I know you heard Bufkin and I talking." Bigby tensed in his chair as Snow continued. "You went there to die, to sacrifice yourself for Fabletown. That was the bravest thing I have ever seen in my life." She opened her eyes and met Bigby's. "So thank you," she finished in a quiet voice. "I don't know what Fabletown would be without you."

The sheriff stared at her, a million thoughts whirling though his head. "I don't know what I'd be without you," he blurted. He realized what he had said a split second later. He felt heat rising up his neck a second after that.

Snow was equally shocked with the statement. She stood by her desk, blushing deeply. "Um, likewise," she returned.

They both mentally kicked themselves.

Bigby coughed uncomfortably to fill the gap of awkwardness. It didn't really help much. Finally, he said, "Snow, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Bigby," she said, jumping on the opportunity to change the subject.

"How did you know the silver bullet would work?" he asked.

"Ah." Snow seemed to deflate a little. "The thing is, I didn't. I mean, I wasn't sure. It was kind of a shot in the dark, to be honest." Bigby's expression was unreadable. Troubled? Angry? Impressed? It could have been any one of them. The mayor looked away and continued. "I just remembered Bufkin talking about how a piece of you lived inside of Mary, and that she couldn't die unless that piece was killed. So I just tried it."

Bigby thought back to that moment when Mary was shot. As the bullet hit her heart, he remembered feeling something strange. A dull ache in his chest. But the pain in his leg had been so intense, he hadn't even thought about it. "Well, it was good thinking," he said. Snow gave a small smile.

The werewolf raised himself to his feet, successfully hiding his grimace when his leg throbbed painfully. "I guess I should get to my office, then. Like you said, the world doesn't stand still every time there's a crisis. There's probably a boatload of Fables waiting to bother me," he said with halfhearted humor.

Snow said nothing as he turned around to face the door. Then, she took a deep breath. "I couldn't shoot you," she admitted.

Bigby froze. "What?" he asked.

"I couldn't shoot you. I…I saw what Mary was about to do, and I knew that I could kill her right then if I just –" The mayor broke off and swallowed audibly. "But I couldn't," she finished. "So I shot her, and it worked. That's what happened."

The sheriff didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded slowly.

"You should probably go now," Snow said. She sat against the edge of her desk, looking away from him. "There's, um, stuff I have to do."

"Yeah," Bigby agreed. "Me too." The werewolf turned back around and limped to the door, frowning. A lot had happened in the past week. Fourteen Fables were dead, but the rest were safe. For now, at least.

He'd fallen into a four-day coma. Bloody Mary had been killed, Woody had been sheriff, and Snow had saved his life. He couldn't imagine what the next few weeks held in store for him. Probably a whole lot of pain and anxiety, he thought glumly.

He was at the door then, and he grasped the handle, turning it slowly. Bigby gave one final glance at the mayor before opening it. The old wood creaked. The Fable's leg quivered under his weight.

_Snow had saved his life._

" _I couldn't shoot you_."

"Fuck it," Bigby muttered. He closed the door.

Snow looked up at him as he strode up to her. "Is something wrong?" she asked. The werewolf didn't speak. He closed the distance between them quickly, ignoring the screaming in his leg. Snow's eyes widened. "Bigby?" she managed to say before the other Fable wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close. He closed his eyes as their lips met.

At first, Snow tensed in reaction to the kiss. Her lips were hard, her body rigid. But then she too closed her eyes, and she leaned into Bigby's body. Her free hand circled around his neck, and her lips moved against his.

They pulled their heads back, both of them breathless. Bigby bent down and touched his forehead against Snow's. He inhaled deeply, soaking in her scent. He opened his eyes to see Snow staring into his. Her expression was strange. "Bigby…your eyes," she said, her tone slightly confused.

"What is it?" he asked. The werewolf didn't wait for an answer, but instead looked over her shoulder, at the magic mirror that stood behind her desk. He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, but not quite knowing what it was.

His eyes were dark and brown.


End file.
